Vulnerable Europa
by Chance O'Neal
Summary: Toshiro Hitsugaya was used to his cloak of invincibility. He never expected that shield to be shattered, nor to see the unlikely Samaritan that would repair more than just his broken cloak of power...
1. Chapter 1: The Looking Glass

A/N: 'TIS IS A Histu/Karin story. Hopefully you shall find it appropriate to your tastes. I do not claim ownership of BLEACH, though I will claim being a novice to its source material. If you wish to help me with insightful reviews. I hope you enjoy. Timeline occurs around the period which Abarai and Kuchiki are sent to retrieve Rukia, though as it will become apparent, I've made some changes to the canon. I'm not sure of the date exactly, however. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, though some characters are of my ownership.

_**Chapter 1: The Looking-Glass**_

_**July 30**__**th**_

_The rain seemed to be endless, _The white-crowned boy thought to himself, aware of the infinite torrent, striking his head, lacking purpose of that its mere existence. Even in shimigami form, the rain grazed him, pelted him, urged him to find shelter. It was a weak bellow, weak despite its unceasing curtain of chilling drops. It lacked the strength of semantics, more doing its task of raining because it was supposed to do it, as if dictated by some plebian god. His blade, the draconic Hyoninmaru, chimed such a chorus, bleating with a nobility akin to Byakuga Kuchiki, imploring the young reaper to seek safety else ware.

Duty and an enigmatic, uninteresting compulsion kept Toshiro Hitsugaya rooted to his spot, perched effortlessly on an equally drenched rooftop. His obsidian kimono absorbed more and more rain, and yet he sat, watching with an icy brilliance.

The object of his observations, and further still his thoughts, was the Kurosaki household, which he watched undetected from the home across the street. He did not understand why he simply didn't apply the most direct approach (I.e. knocking on the door, rushing in when it was opened, and carrying Rukia Kuchiki away), but he was more pragmatic than his outward appearance would predict. For the house itself, it was massive, he vaguely noted, aware of damages that had a good reason, but no evidence so far. He had remained in this spot, his legs dangling over the edge of the pleated roof for hours, before the rain began and the darkness commenced. Of course, although the 10th division captain did find his fingers probing the monitor he used for hollows-as per was his duty-his teal eyes remained riveted on the house.

He knew what he was looking for, what he was looking at, though his persistence actually disturbed him. The Kurosaki household was akin to a bonfire in a wooded area. The sheer reiatsu emitting from the depths of that house shocked him. Initially he did not believe that such reiatsu could burgeon from this place. However, he had been commissioned here (A lie: He was actually quite curious, and bored as heck in Soul Society), and now he was dutifully standing by, observing the household like a hawk.

It was beginning to exasperate him however, as he watched. He didn't mind the silence, but he was wondering if it would be prudent for him to remain watching from here. From what he had gathered, the home had four individuals; A father, a son, and two daughters. The father looked familiar for a reason that escaped him; However, the father (whose name he learned was Isshin) had minimal spiritual pressure, as so not worth his notice. One of the daughters, whose name was Yuzu, mimicked this minimal spiritual pressure, and again lacked the earning of his interest. It was the boy that he had been initially warned about, possessing humongous spiritual pressure that seemed to be the source of his massive reiatsu. It had not escaped his notice that the boy, Ichigo, had observed him in an concealed attempt, looking right at him as he passed.

The other daughter, Karin, was not worth his interest.

Of course, he made a mental analogy of this other daughter, with her tomboyish looks and raven-hair, in her spiritual pressure. It was the reason why he was here, and the reason why he discarded his interest. The girl's spiritual pressure was too much like the aggressive, maniacal Kenpachi Zaraki back in Soul Society. It leaked continuously, but it did had finer control under it. The girl, Karin, had a potent mark on the area, but it was dwarfed by the boy's. Perhaps this was a good thing. If _both _their spiritual pressures were 'turned on' at full blast…it would attract every hollow perhaps within a five-mile radius.

His face breathed out in exasperation.

"Why couldn't Kuchiki-taicho do this himself? Its his damn sister…I'm 10th company captain, for crying out loud! What's the point of having subordinates if I got to do this?"

He could only hope that Matsumoto was doing the paperwork back at the office. He only had one other subordinate under him: Renji Abarai, the assistant captain of the 6th company. He had also beenn offered Tosen's lieutenant, but he politely declined, aware that he was already annoyed by going at all.

Not to mention, he also missed Momo…but duty came first.

His eyes of blue-green traced briefly up to the second-floor window, seeing that a light was still on, in spite of the late hours. Rukia Kuchiki was still around, and so to avoid being detected, subtly was necessary. His pressure was lowered to evade detection, and even so, perhaps the blunt typhoon of the orange-haired boy and the raven-haired girl's more demure potency would cover his own power nearby.

His eyes remained trained on the lit window. He spotted a figure looking outside. His concern made him want to flee suddenly, for he saw a hint of sable-black locks…but then he realized the boy that Kuchiki was constantly with was on the other side of the house…what would be his left. The lit window came on the right side, and Hitsugaya's intuition told him it was that other daughter Karin.

Nothing important, he guessed.

"Why couldn't Kuchiki do this himself?" He found himself asking again. Holding his position was tiresome, despite his lack of a gigai.

He could feel the girl's eyes upon him for some time.

Night continued to deepen. The rain continued to swell from the pavement, its lanes becoming temporary waterways with the freezing downpour. Yet he stood outside…waiting…watching…he wanted to see if Rukia was doing her job, as the Council of 46 desired her return. However, it had been taking longer than they expected. She had been sent on a patrol, rudimentary and routine as any day is, but she did not return for sometime. Byakuga had his interest: Kuchiki was his sister, after all. However, Toshiro and the 6th Division captain had little contact with each other outside of their regular captains' meetings. It was due to Jushiro Ukitake of the 13th company that Toshiro (bribed with embarrassment, a mothering Momo, and a sack of sweets) ended up in his current predicament to start. To say he was amused was a poor interpretation. It didn't help his ego anymore with regard that the 'bribe' had been done with his subordinates in plain sight…gossip was rare in Soul Society, and when a newer, juicier piece of intrigue was introduced into the placid landscape…it didn't take long for everyone to pick up on it.

Another exasperated sigh escaped the boy's pallid lips. He respected Captain Ukitake; he really did. But his affections wore on him. Everyone in Soul Society was older than they appeared. It had only been his luck that he had died at a young age.

_**Young one, this One smells your distaste. Control it. **_

_Hyourinmaru…_

_**This One understands the workings of humans better than you, wielder. This one knows that everyman relies on the prestige of deeds than the prestige of appearance. Thou wishes to become great. Thou wishes to become strong. It is This One's obligation to grant thy wish. But be calm. This One is fond of the rain. **_

Ah. Hyourinmaru. The blade had a consciousness, an id, ego, and overbearing superego to debate with the boy. It was his blade, his extension, his persona manifest upon the material plane. Otherwise, Toshiro would more so be the snobbish little boy that he seemed to be, and not with the morals and responsibilities bestowed by the dragon lurking inside.

_When will that girl go to bed already?_

_**This One asked politely for your quiescence. Remember, little frost; This One serves as thy shield, thy sword, and thy consul. This One shalt not sway from thy responsibility. But This One rarely sees the rain again…**_

The dragon fell silent, and once more Toshiro Hitsugaya was deposited to his lonely vigil.

The light to the raven-haired girl's room still shone, like a watcher's eerie eye.

For how much longer the clock ventured in swift, baby steps or lunges masked in the sonata of rain, the captain of the 10th division had no saying. His phone monitor remained effortlessly silent, as if obeying the requests of the equally silent dragon. This Toshiro found remotely odd, but he never let his eyes venture away from the door of the home.

So when the stranger came walking, perpendicular to that doorway, Hitsugaya's surprise was belated, but genuine.

He had not heard the man coming, nor had he sensed the reiatsu of this dapper man either. Hence, had it not been for the inherent strangeness of this interloper, Toshiro would've simply dismissed him as another mortal wandering the early morning streets, albeit one with a peculiar taste in clothing for a rainstorm. The rain seemed as unrelenting as usual in its deluge, in which an umbrella was utterly pointless to bear. Yet this man walked softly, like piano chords in the moonlight, a white fabric shield dually wedging the rain and obscuring his face.

The coming and going of various mortals did not in the least concern Hitsugaya, who still like a predator observed the household. The light in the right bedroom had finally shut off. Yet the man standing below him, on the street did not seem to be in a hurry. Toshiro bet he could be smiling under that umbrella, though as he moved, the man's pallid countenance remained concealed by his pearl-white, pentagonal shield. He noticed a parcel in his other hand as he drew closer, shaped in a rectangular fashion, wrapped in layers of white plastic. Also, more details drew home with each sloshing step in the rain, each time a careful shoe diving into the swelling, temporary river that was the street. His clothes continued to boggle the youngest captain's logic. Surely, no human would were dress attire for an outing in the rain, but alas, such was the case. Perfectly ironed, a three-piece business suit of the darkest umbra, with a contrasting, innocent white undershirt to coagulate the tones of midnight blackness of coat and pants and gloves…Hitsugaya found his eyes temporarily pulled from his main interest to observe this oddity. Every button was militantly fastened. Each cuff was locked like a bank. Each glove stretched to accommodate thin, long fingers. But even as he neared, and stood at an intersection on the sidewalk, between he and the Kurosaki household, Hitsugaya could not see the face of the pale man. The umbrella obscured most of his face, but he could see the hair…a crow black to match his harmless dress suit. Also, He could just make out the tips of a murky, unbelievably dry wide-brimmed hat, almost akin to what he recalled being called a 'fedora', of Western popularity.

That was all the description the boy genius cared to deliver to the dapper-clothed man. A vagrant mortal was beneath the captain's notice, and he had dilly-dallied on his mission for long enough.

_Hyourinmaru…we're going._

_**Wait, little one-**_

_Stop calling me little!_

_**Observe thy interloper, thy captain. **_The dragon within the sword pointed out.

_Why? He can't see us. His reiatsu's insignificant._

_**The interloper stares right at thy face, little wielder.**_

This got his attention, whether he wanted to or not. So he turned, and looked. His face was still masked, concealed by both the enchanting wide-brimmed hat and the innocent umbrella, but even admist the hydrophobic curtain, Hitsugaya could make out a little something that confirmed the ice dragon's perception. A small, saturnine smile, etched upon the lower jaw of a angled face.

Hitugaya stared back, hoping that if he denied the cosmopolitan man his attention, his existence and purpose would be denied as well. However, even with the continued torrent smashing down upon their respective brows, the man stood unkempt and unbothered, his smile never shrinking and his head stagnant in angle.

It was a few more minutes before the man spoke.

"Good evening, little dragon. Or would _Buenos noches_ be more mannerly?" It was a quiet voice, an appropriate accompaniment to the man's strange silence. It was also disturbingly deadpan, and lacking of emotion…as if the man was deliberately forgoing the human attributes to be polite.

Hitsugaya chose not to respond. His eyes moved past the man's slim shoulders, focusing back on the house, and particularly, the upstairs windows.

"Please, do not ignore me. That would incur a spanking upon you, little dragon."

"Are you dead?" Toshiro relented, acknowledging the troublemaker. Duty was still his, even if there were no hollows. If this man were counted among the deceased, a proper soul burial would eradicate this nuisance and let hi return to his job.

"Dead? If I were dead, would you kindly explain how I can hold these materialistic items? An amusing joke." He responded, though the lack of fluctuating tones in his deadpan voice suggested amusement was an impossibility. Toshrio rolled his eyes, aware of this fact. The umbrella was holding off the rain, and the plastic-wrap parcel was as well. Apparently, this fashionably dressed shrew was among the flesh and blood.

"Would you kindly recognize me, instead of turning your eyes, little dragon? That can be interpreted as rude, if you don't have the courtesy to pay attention when someone speaks to you. " The pale man continued.

"Its just as rude to interrupt a man when he's doing his job." Toshiro countered.

"Then it is fortunate I speak to a grade schooler. Isn't past your bedtime?"

Toshiro's scowl deepened. The man's smile actually widened.

"Get lost. I'm busy."

"…that simply can't happen. I find it a discourtesy to my guests, and a discourtesy to myself, to ignore an action when committed to it. Please, would you kindly here me out?"

"You don't know me."

"Then indulge me, _dragon pequeno_."

Toshiro let out another exasperated sigh. Of all the luck…he ends up with a nutcase that can see ghosts. The Hollows, he reasoned internally, would be breaking down the door by now. "_Fine_. I'm Captain Toshiro Hitsugaya, Captain of the 10th Company. Now scram."

The man did not budge from his place in the ankle-high waters. He only looked up highly, smiling all the while a beguiling complexion while revealing more of the lower half of his pallid face. A straight, triangular chin, defined as his own, shone in a pasty glory from the blanket of his opaque fedora, and his smile seemed quite content in conversation.

The man did not move even as Toshiro lost his cool, the water near him threatening to freeze and shatter. "Hey! I told you to scram. I'm busy in one of my duties. Leave and forget my face."

The man only beamed serenely at the boy genius, deaf to his retort and immune or ignorant to the steadily dropping temperature. After a few more minutes of study, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, towards the Kurosaki household, his feet now making muted splashes among the melodious rain.

This didn't sit well with Toshiro. His intuition told him something was up, and he beckoned with a voice befitting his position.

"Hey! What're you doing?"

The fashionable man's voice remained somewhat lackadaisical in emotional quantity, revealing still only his deadpan timbre. "I can see you are distracted, little dragon. So distracted, that your boorishness cannot be blamed on you, but the situation? Would you kindly excuse me? I must rid you of that distraction before I can harpoon the meat of my arrival."

"Huh? What the blasted are you-"

"This house," The pallid man responded, pointing with the rectangular, plastic-wrapped parcel still in gloved hand, "is the source of your unpleasant distractions. Do not worry your little head, _dragon pequeno_, I shall relieve you of that distraction. I shall simply slit the throats of the patriarch, the matriarch, and the male siblings, and then I'll have some fun with the daughters, if there are-"

His babbling, the emotional quality and casualness which he carried reflecting a detachedness even the icy Hitsugaya would describe as inhuman, was shut off by the suddenness of the 10th company captain. No sooner had the man finished describing how he would eliminate the father of the household, Toshiro lept from his place on the waterlogged rooftop to in-between the trim-dressed man and the Kurosaki household. His blade was out, pointing at the obviously psychotic mortal, and inside his consciousness, the noble Hyourinmaru roared to be unleashed.

Though not one for heroics, Toshiro would simply not stand by and watch people be slaughtered, especially when the act was broadcasted to his face. Duty demanded more of him.

"I'm not distracted anymore."

The man said nothing. His response at the sudden act was to continue smiling an eerie, beguiling smile, succeeding at irritating the child genius.

"Are you a Vasto Lorde?" Toshiro questioned. The man did fit the description, but it bother him that it was unlikely. Cryptic as his smile was and crazy as his tongue was, he had no spiritual pressure. Was he suppressing it? Or was he bluffing under that blank tone?

"A Vasto Lorde? No. Amusing joke, though, to confuse _un hombre _of flesh and bone as a simple hollow. I'm so entertained, and the real fun hasn't even begun."

Toshiro raised his eyebrow. "Stop talking nonsense, you nutcase. What's your business here?"

The pallid man in the onyx, three piece suit did not immediately answer. Instead, in the middle of the street (where the cars were at this late hour Hitsugaya didn't hazard a guess), the peculiar, still-anonymous man walked past the boy, underhandedly throwing the parcel onto the front doorstep of the Kurosaki household (it splashed hard to the ground and shimmered with a metallic clang). Then, he slowly closed and tipped his pearl-white umbrella, leaning it against a streetlight to the 10th company captain's right, before returning to his position, a gloved hand now trained on top of his black fedora, as if afraid the wind would snatch it from him…despite the sheer lack of gusts.

Toshiro stamped his blade on the ground, intent to garner the attention of the clarified mad man.

"Would you kindly duel me, little dragon?"

The request evidently shocked the boy genius. He had stood in the rain, listening to this nutcase, just to have him ask to a duel? He had no spiritual power! He might as well been asking for assisted suicide.

"Sorry. Soul Reapers killing mortals is a little taboo. Besides, if we were to fight for real…lets just say I'd end you."

"Pretty confident. But are you measuring me by appearances alone? Don't you know that surprised is the worse state an opponent can be in? I assure you that I have some surprises, as do you. I willing ask for this _duelo_. The responsibility, should you slay me, will entirely be mine and mine alone, and whatever superior you have to face will respect that. Killing me will not be your fault. And besides. What can a weak little mortal like me do to you, a powerful captain, in any setting, much less the fearsome rain around you?"

"So you…want to die."

"No. I want to be entertained." The pallid man said finally. He turned to face Toshiro, his complacent gloved hand leaping from the top of his wide-brimmed hat, both arms descending to static attention at his sides. "Summon your _espada_, little dragon."

"…what?"

"I am a vacant being, and if I must confess to being a _pecador_, so be it that I am a hedonist. Entertain me, little dragon. Summon your _espada_."

Logic had fled to the far corners of the universe, entrapped outside of Toshiro's teal-flavored sight and his understanding. He was _supposed_ to be finding Rukia Kuchiki and taking her back to Soul Society, not playing and butchering some tuxedoed miscreant. He wasn't even armed, for goodness sake!

"No. I send souls to Soul Society. I don't send the living to hell."

"……how disappointing. How discouraging. How infuriating." His voice concealed all emotions, so whether or not this stranger was being sarcastic or just a nuisance, Toshiro hadn't a clue. The man removed his onyx gloves with a patronizing air, casting the gloves aside to reveal milky, thin hands. "You must either be arrogant to duel me or too distracted by that house. Perhaps I should burn it down?"

"Shut up! I'm not interested in killing idiots! Go back to your home."

"I'm afraid I can't do that. Oh, what a pity. I was _so _hoping I wouldn't have to draw first blood. But I can see that will not work. You have your duty, but what holds your heart? Order? Ha. Oh well. I haven't skinned any bunnies recently. If I have to make the first strike…so be it.

"I cannot tell you my name just yet. Forgive me of that discourtesy. But I have an alias, in the roving, Material plane from which I reside. They call me the Seven-Sealed Devil. Get ready."

Then, in an action that took Toshiro off guard, for he was still convinced that the man was more an agitator than an actor, the debonair man slapped the boy genius with his bare hand. He did not see him venture from his spot in the middle of the street, to the sidewalk which Toshiro stood, or the movement back to his starting position. He had only felt the stinging brush upon his cheek, and the tingling sensation that persevered.

"Did you just slap me?"

"Of course. Provocation is one of the oldest tactics to goad a warrior to action. You are not an imbecile, I will assure of that. We just have to remove that pacifistic stance."

Toshiro blinked. The man was spouting some ridiculous sentences befitting of the inmates of an asylum, with his jaunty disposition a clever yet lazily placed fakery. He complimented him for absurdities and an inoffensive smile could not be removed from his face…nor the fedora from his raven-colored crown, even as the rain seized his fabrics.

"Are you ready, little dragon? I have all night."

"…you are one stupid mortal." Hitsugaya coldly remarked, with a tone of a military instructor. "You asked for it."

_"Sit upon the Frosted Heavens…Hyourinmaru!"_

The release was set, in such a way that Hitsugaya's spiritual pressure skyrocketed. His blade took its true form, that of a larger, more edged shape, and surrounding his little body was a dragon made of part ice and part water.

"Do you get the picture now?" Toshiro responded, levitating from the audible surge of power. The dragon surrounded the little captain, his kimono and haori, despite being drenched immune to the solidifying rain. Currently, the watery, serpentine dragon stared over his shoulder, looking to smite the foolish man who would arouse it from its slumber. "Let me explain this to you, because my patience is utterly shot with you. There is this something we Soul Reapers have called reiatsu. All beings have it. Reiatsu is a measure of one's spiritual might and potency, you could say. The more there is, the brighter it shine. Let me prepare a simple description for you, idiot, so maybe you'll get out of my way. Your reiatsu I can feel: its like a whimpering candle in the cold winds. Mine, on the other hand…mine is a blazing sun…that will burn you alive. Now…will you go now?"

"…ha ha ha. If that is true, than a weakling such as myself should pose no threat. You have the power to freeze my heart: The power of life and death. But we must do something about your chaste reluctance. That _espada _would certainly kill me, and it is so beautiful…but we must see for ourselves."

"Damn it." Toshiro responded. He had no reason to fight this man. He really didn't. It was a waste of his powers, and it chaffed his mentality. This man was not a hollow, for hunger seemed the last concern of the pallid man. Likewise, he was not a plus, for he was handling objects other than his clothes. Lastly, he certainly was not a soul reaper, for the clothes were incorrect, and he had no zanpakuto. This man was simply a mortal man, who wanted to fight him, and impede his duties, and it irritated him.

"Would you kindly answer one more question for me? Or two?"

"…I'm really losing my patience with you."

"Then, I shall be quick, lest I destroy my good image." The man droned on, taking a brief bow to add some substance to his deadpan voice. "Delighted though I am that you have revealed your dragon , I am curious still: Is this the extent of your powers?"

Toshiro felt an eyebrow raise. The man continued on without notice.

"As I confessed before, I am a hedonist. Its all I can live for, a vacant being seeking the thrill and recognition of mortal combat. Even if I am so much weaker than you, I feel you are holding back. This, though a beautiful display to smite down grunts, is not the extent of your hand. Please indulge me further, I, a decadent and empty soul, with your full potential. I implore you."

The white-haired captain's reply was gruff and as strained as his brain. "I don't waste my _bankai _on suicidal idiots. Sorry. This is all your getting."

The man said nothing. He tilted his hat up briefly, almost as if to reveal his still absent eyes, but the elongated brim of his hat kept the 10th company captain's teal orbs from perceiving it (that and the vicious rains). He lowered his hat again, and 'tutted' in dismay.

"I guess I have to earn my entertainment today. Be careful, little dragon. Never measure a man by an intangible aura. He may have a few surprises up his sleeves."

Having discarded his gloves some time ago, the pasty hands of the 'Seven-Sealed Devil' extended themselves to his sides, and then jerked them up suddenly, forming a right angle. Hitsugaya only lost his lunch at what he saw. From the palms of his pallid, thin hands, two blades pierced out, as if they were parasites coated in blood, trying to flee the confines of the epidermis. Farther and farther the edges crawled out, like moles from underground, more blood staining the waterlogged streets, until the handles of each sword-each about three feet-fell right into his grasping, open-holed palms. With a rudimentary swing, the man cast aside the blood and meat attached to his blades, and Toshiro could get a good look at the sabers now. They were then blades, like epees, but the edges of the blades were sharper on the sides rather than on the tip. Yamamoto's lieutenant (Hitsugaya had forgotten the name) held a blade similar to these.

Not once did the man flinch. His smile never wavered. His fedora never left.

And then Toshiro lost sight of the fool.

"Over your shoulder."

Toshiro briefly whirled behind him (Hyourinmaru mimicked the action) before the man punched him in the face rather than slap him with his blade. Toshiro flinched slightly, a renewed, nagging sensation cropping back on his cheek, before pulling his dragon back to the attack.

The strong ice zanpakuto dived at where the man stood, but the little captain missed the sound of flesh freezing to ice. When the dragon rematerialized back into his watery majesty, only the water on the sidewalk was frozen over. The man was gone again.

Toshiro had all of two seconds to wonder where the man was, before, in his tuxedoed glory he pounced again, striking his face with his weaker hands rather than with his dangerous sabers. Again there was a tingling on his face, but he ignored it, trying to mobilize his dragon to fight.

The results repeated itself for several times. Hyourinmaru, slowly becoming crabbier and crabbier, would hurl itself into the waters where the man would stand, his angelic smile mocking him. And on each occasion, the man would evade without harm, appear behind the 10th captain, and strike weakly with his fist than his sabers. Eventually, the man stopped, more interested in chatting than pursuing his white-crowned object of interest.

"It is true you are more powerful than me. On a scale of one to fifty, I am a six, and you are currently a nine. However, I can tell you are holding back. This bores me. I hate boredom. I loathe boredom. I-"

"Will you shut up?!" Hitsugaya shouted. "I don't have time to fight you."

"If you don't crank up your power, just yet, I will force it from your blood. Little dragon, I wanted to be killed by a wyrm such as you…not butcher the dragon itself. Don't disappoint me."

Toshiro looked down, and felt the badge under his kimono. He really didn't think it was necessary to fight all out, to activate his _genkei kyotai_ but all this guy was doing was evading his efforts. He was in the darn rain, for crying out loud! This should've been over!

"…if you don't activate your…how do you call it? Bankai? Then I will force it out of you. My blades are sharp enough."

"…whatever. I have no reason to fight a mortal. My job is to reap souls. Not to reap lives. But if you keep pushing me…" Toshiro warned. The water under him froze in supernatural speed, more akin to a plague than to a natural phenomenon. The chair around his arm unraveled, and so he aimed it around his fist. "…this is ridiculous. I can destroy you with my full power; you couldn't even stand it I let it all go. And water is everywhere, devil. Hyourinmaru will regenerate indefintinely as long as there's a downpour."

"Ha. Ha. Just keep barking, little bitsy dragon. My blades are a little deaf."

Toshiro spat, uncharacteristically, then hurled his chain at Olympic speed, intent on entrapment apparent. The pallid man smiled and vanished in the turning, the chain slicing through his shadow. The next sensation the 10th company captain felt was a grazing at his middle, as the pallid man appeared at his front, his twin blades gutting his kimono with a boned-fish clarity. Blood mingled with the ice below him, and for the first time Toshiro, in his shock, caught a glimmer of his pupils. It reminded him of the fox-face Gin Ichimaru, who simpered with each breath.

"Little dragon…I drew your blood. Freeze me while I am stabbing you."

Toshiro grimaced, the pain apparent in his soul-bound body. His chain remained limp at the side, and his blade was inert in the other in. The twin blades did not pierce him fatally, as despite both lancing his torso., but it held him still. Surprise was his mentality, and the debonair man took advantage. His hands let go of the swords, and both pasty-completed hands worked in ballet, slapping and slapping over and over his youthful face. His face volleyed from numbness to prickly euphoria, and he was at the mental end of the dragon.

_**The fool is in range, wielder. Call This One's glorious name, and let us surprise him for the folly of challenging us!**_

_Alright, here we go…_

_"Bankai."_

The little captain had not been jesting, his rage a cold glacier shattering in combination with his dragon and himself. Pride was not an unknown commodity in his psyche. He had reason to hold to his pride, for he took every accomplishment seriously. And yet he was being mocked-anger rather than burn and incinerate, froze over in his world, seeking to devour everything in its icy voraciousness. Not even the inherent quickness of this strange narcissus could evade at least the first wintry blast, as his _bankai _took effect. He could feel the insignificant 'candle-jack' be thrown from his place, his grip on his sabers lost amidst the sudden surge of power, his body blasting upon a nearby fencepost. His zanpakuto grew in length, sharpened by power Toshiro neither knew he had nor remembered. Wings of the most translucent white sprouted from his shoulder-blades. His legs became strong, reptilian stumps. A tale of considerable length and glassy texture trailed from his hip. And from his body came a glorious, twelve-petal flower, the sigil of his spiritual strength.

_"…Diageru Hyourinmaru."_ Toshiro muttered softly, the rain around him freezing in his diameter before shattering on the ground. The potency of his _bankai_ rippled though the area, cowing those who could sense him (inwardly suspecting that the Kurosaki household was enduring its effect). He knew Soul Society was gonna have his head, but…the mortal man asked for it. If that fool was dead, Toshiro would have a dealing with soul burial soon.

His teal eyes widened in utter surprise as he watched the dandy stand up, apparently hurt, but alive. Ice coagulated upon his hands and pants, and his fedora was frozen in the expanding, cancerous permafrost. Blood spouted as a faucet from his mouth, and he ejected bloody streams with hacking coughs.

The 10th captain almost felt pity for the worm crawling on the ground. "Its over. Get lost. Take your spared life and get lost. I'm no longer holding back, so you know. Everyone with a sixth sense can feel me for six miles. You can't even stand now, I think."

"Ha. Ha. Amusing. Amusing joke. Incorrigible to boot. Ha. Ha." The narcissus muttered, crawling under his breath with blood-stained teeth. "_Gracias, Gracias, gracias, _little dragon. You have delighted me. Now I can follow through. I guess I am a little candle after all."

"Give it up." Toshiro called, his patience at the breaking point. "You can't even-" He was going to finish with the word 'stand', but the word was swallowed before his larynx could produce it. Instead, he plucked the swords out of his body, exposing his wounds to the draconic cold.

The man stood up, dusting off the icicles forming on his business suit. He acted with such aloofness that he barely seemed aware of his injuries, save the jarring twitching on his body. A hand, now cleanly bruised from the thrusting act, snatched his fedora, and finally Toshiro observed his head uncovered: A normally-rounded head, shallow skinned, but with elegant raven hair in a pony-tail, and squinty eyes that accented his deceptions. His smile continued to be a caricature that the white-crowned reaper detested.

"I'm so delighted I can't stand it, little dragon. At last you are shining brightly. You shine so brightly I must squint in your direction, or risk blindness from your arctic presence. I'm so happy."

_He sure as heck does not sound like it._ The 10th captain thought to himself, again noting the cardinal trait of that annoying flat affect. The dandy placed his fedora back on his skull after brushing aside the various ice shards decorating it, and looked at where Toshiro had cast aside his sabers.

"Ah. My blades rust easily when not in contact with tissue. A pity." He commented as if stating the affairs at the polls, less with emotion and more with fact. He was right, the white-haired soul reaper realized, as the blades, no sooner in touching the ground, withered to dust, their durability lost to brittleness.

"I warn you again. This exercise is pointless. Give up!"

"I'm afraid I'll have to move forward, though I believe a disk has fragmented into my spinal column with that landing. Adrenaline is keeping me up now. I asked to a duel, and your head now brushes the glass ceiling. Time to transform that pretty little _cabeza _of yours into a battering ram. Come on."

His hands jerked again to a right angle, and once again two epee-like sabers sprouted from his arms like a pair of weeds. He brandished them, and moved forward. Hitsugaya scowled, observing still the leisurely pace which the pallid, unnamed man approached him, not even resorting to his speed. A bubbling rage began to take hold, and he raised his shining blade. Patience had fled from his kimono into the closet of his righteous mind. Corporal punishment seemed the most savory-not to mention only-option left open to him.

"Damn it. Do I have to kill you?"

In arrogance voiced in choice of words more so than emphasis of input, the man bit perhaps his last. "You called yourself a blazing sun. Prove it to me. Burn me to oblivion, as you claim you can. I have little use for the paltry weight of words. All I care about is my own pleasure, and your reservations deny me that. Would you kindly stifle those reservations, and incinerate me?"

Toshiro let out an exasperated sigh. He felt a sweltering power inside him, and he intended to finish his fight. But he was aware of the foolishness of fighting this man.

"No. Forget it. I told you, my job is to reap souls, and kill hollows. You are living. I cannot-"

He had forgotten the pallid man's speed. The man had tried to run him through again, and this time slashed at both thighs. His face was smiling, but his words soon contradicted that smile.

"Why? I only live for battle. Nothing else matters to me. Others' lives do not matter to me," The narcissus slashed at Toshiro, cutting up his kimono, and searing wide his arms with tenacious sabers. "Others' duties do not matter to me," He quickly sliced at his cheek, cutting additional scars as he spoke, his blades showing the emotion he lacked. "All that matters to me is the fight. Must I debase myself to barbarian status for that joy?" He, in all his debonair glory, punched again at the bewildered Toshiro, punctuating his point with another impromptu stabbing into his lower torso. He head butted the child-captain, and hurled him over his body by rolling him up with a leg-based judo throw. "I admonish you for raising up my hopes to only smash them, little dragon. Now…I spank you."

Toshiro recovered instantly, and soared right into the pallid, anonymous man. His mercifulness and his dutiful steadfastness had evaporated with the freezing ice. Instead, he responded with both the same suddenness and inexorability of this stranger, that would impede on his own duties.

His blade struck home, finding a cold niche inside of the man's ribcage just as the man raised his guard once again. Under the bristling power of Captain Toshiro Hitsugaya, the youngest soul to achieve _bankai_ and the youngest ever to attain captaincy, the man could not stop the joust with his meager twin epees. Instead, both blades shattered like branches before the windstorm, broken in half with effortless ease. They clattered upon the frosted streets, curiously alone and forgotten, as their creator succeeded at stopping the zanpakuto with his body alone. Blood shoved out like old burgundy wine, which started to solidify almost instantly under Hitsugaya's entropic spiritual pressure.

His feet amazingly stopped the pushing efforts of the smaller opponent, finding a crevasse to halt on by a fencepost wreathed in ice. His hands shook furiously, the nerve communication fissured beyond repair, and apparently lost their sense of intelligence. They did not find his sword, which might have pulled it out. They found his angled face, scowling with hardened teal eyes, his pasty fingers cupping each side of his countenance with transparent desperation.

"You are dying." Toshiro stated with finality. His hands remained as granite upon the hilt of Hyourinmaru, the priceless katana piercing deep into his visceral and scrawny body. "I shall send you to Soul Society when you pass out."

The man only smiled, his fingers never moving, and Hitsugaya never making an effort to remove them. "Amusing. Ha. To dupe you into believe I have a soul. I am a vacant being of denser flesh and bones. But I've won anyway."

"Humph. You are insane and inane, fool. Even when faced with your own mortality, you refuse to accept your stupidity. I haven't the time for this."

"Can't you feel it? Can't you?" He muttered quietly. Blood continued to pour from his violated mouth. "Does your radiance not surprise you? Never were you this powerful. Never. Your restriction has been bypassed, and I've shattered your glass ceiling. How much…further…"

Toshiro raised an eyebrow. The pallid man noticed.

"How many flower petals do you have, little dragon?" He asked randomly.

"Twelve."

"Oh. My number counting must be different than yours. I count _twenty-four_."

Hitsugaya's eyebrows threatened to traverse his furrowed, disturbed brow, and disappear into his white-forest on top his head. He chanced a glance behind him, and his eyes widened in demolished composure. The dandy of a man, who had berated him and survived despite being run through by his sharpened sword, was correct in the midst of irrational ramblings. When his _bankai _activated normally, the ice flower erected behind him took on twelve petals, symbolizing his potency. Now, however, though he felt powerful, more powerful than even the Captain-General Yamamoto, he could see his jaw drop as tourmaline eyes darted across chalk-white voids to count in bounces the number of fecund crystal petals now budding from his _bankai _sigil. Indeed the man spoke with veracity: There _were _twenty-four petals to his ice flower, double that of what was his standard limit, when he was one-hundred percent. Never, even when emotionally charged, could he voluntarily attain such a feet. And yet, staring at him in the face with outlandish mascara and frozen reality was that feat-a doubling of his power with active logic.

The bleeding fop only grinned, hacked, and laughed in combinations cut akin to his body. "I told you…little dragon…I am the Seven-Sealed Devil. Know why I…am called that? I…I…am weak before you, a blazing sun, but a candle can burn anywhere, and not eradicate those that want its warmth. You, blazing sun…destroy everything in your area with a callousness of the universe. Indifference fits…your icy face…ha. Ha."

"What did you do, darn it?" Toshiro asked, his voice a wrathful lion and an awed salamander.

"Ha. Ha. The best are those that fiiiiight…for something. That die….for something. You cannot die, and so there is no meaning…A star does not fret and worry that it will burn…the people who languid in its brightness, or the plants that harvest its luster. Noooo…it only burns, until one of two things happens. How…how fitting, that you'd have the gaucheness to name yourself a sun. There are only _dos_ fates for a sun, little dragon. Expand and explode, or shrink and collapse. Ha. Ha. Amusing, is your perplexity, that you can think to reap a vacant being. Ha. Ha." The man began to slump, his legs that once moved so fast now having their vigor siphoned out to supply his chaste tongue. His hands never left Toshiro's face, now clutching with such feeble intensity that his vainly-consummated fingernails creased the child captain's lithe cheeks.

And yet he never stopped smiling, a fact which simultaneously perturbed and infuriated the little captain. Hyourinmaru had interesting fell silent, and now the wintry aura became a typhoon in his mind.

"One of my skills, as I will soon-tch!" The man grunted in agony, as he shifted. Toshiro kept his hold on the blade, and he jerked it suddenly. "…soon, have no importance in this Material Plane…is positive energy amplification. With every touch of my bare epidermis, I inject a little or a lot of positive energy-what you…you can call spiritual pressure-into whomever I touch. Friend or foe. You reached your glass ceiling sometime ago, little dragon. Now, you are overstraining. Like a super giant, crimson as my blood…your power is beyond your grasp. In a few seconds…since my hands are still on your face…that power will burn out, and you will have nothing. So…let me bring you down to the rat's level. Let me bring you down to the surface."

A hand released its death grip on Hitsugaya's face. A jerk, simply and supple, produced another blade, and the debonair man, even in the will of his death throes, plunged the epee into the child captain. Hitsugaya tensed, but not screamed.

That came when the petal count reached twenty-five.

It was like he mentally was thrown from a cliff, and struck hard earth in seconds. The _bankai_, with its majestic armor, and reptilian additives, broke like wine-glasses chucked in a drunkard's rage. Ethereal wings fell to pieces, aura plummeted from the enormous, sustained explosion which it had once been, and the massive flower with its multiple petals, crumbled behind him, as a sand castle before the unforgiving waves. He let out a howl of pain, for his insides reeled from the soul-slashing shrapnel of his deactivated _bankai_. Exhaustion surmounted his vision and his mentality. Hyourinmaru, his loyal, mental dragon, became deafened upon the sonorous piano madness that was the formerly quiet rainfall. His arms turned to lead, and rusted from the sudden, empowering energy which he just had, but lost without preamble. The ice sheet so prominently made in his presence, bolstered to an unbelievable maximum of seventy-five yards, receded and melted back into the primordial run-off that seeped into detestable sewer drains. His zanpakuto lost its edge, and with that, Toshiro finally found the where-with-all to remove it, as if to crudely slap the trickster that caused him this foreign torment.

"What use…is pride…if you cannot share it? If it stands alone? Ha. I win. Even if I die. You have eternity, little dragon, and yet you have nothing to exist for except perverted order. Ha. Ha. I only live to be entertained, for I haven't a soul to sell for _dinero_. Ha. Ha. Amusing jest."

Toshiro's eyes became foggier, the words of the pallid man barely registering over the cacophony that was the whining raindrops. Vague was the feeling of blood dribbling out of his wounds, lacerations cut by a trim assassin. Vague was the realization that his knees and skull were transcending into deviant weights, rebelling against their master to shove his ego to the humbling concrete. Vague was the reality that the pallid man, who had been clearly eviscerated by his saber and was now unleashing a staining crimson deluge upon to heavenly river underneath, stood up, his hand on the blade still penetrating Hitsugaya, and plucking it from his shoulder.

"Ha. Ha. Well done. You've sufficiently entertained me. I've wondered what it would look like…for a warrior to surpass his limits and plummet back into his flesh with realization. I cannot deny loving this show. But…perhaps it would be gauche of me to let you die. Yes…that would be inexcu…sable."

Toshiro didn't hear him, nor felt the hand grabbing his collar on his black kimono. Vaguely, embarrassment interloped in his subconscious, and he was dragged the short distance by a dying assassin, his alien blood mixing with his young life fluids. He heard a doorbell ring, and the weight on his collar let off.

"I think…I will leave you here. There are doctors there I believe. You will be in flesh and bone now, so…you will be treated. The flesh is the cabin of the spirit, and within that spirit is a heart. Where…is…yours…? Bur…n,t…out…like…a…st..a..r? H…a…H..a…amus…zing…"

Toshiro's eyes began to close, but he could see the man still, walking away from him, still in that drenched, dapper suit, still holding to an air of aloofness. His steps did not reflect this, however, and it was obvious to see. He walked all of three steps, zigzagging grandiosely, before he collapsed, his anonymous face cracking into the middle of the street. He did not move again, and more blood tainted the pure rain.

He was aware of two more things, before a vengeful, spiteful unconsciousness claimed him. The opening of a door, and a girl's voice shouting "DADDY!! COME QUICK!! THERE'S A GUY-"

Everything collapsed.

--

End Chapter.

A/N: A bit dramatic, but I confess to being a novice. Reviews, as per is the tact thing to do, would be most appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2: Humility

And now, we move on, like hopping bunnies in primeval darkness, always moving forward, and never looking behind…there is time for reflection in the murmurs of those that stand by our shoulders, and time for reflection when we reach the end, in bright, translucent detail. I hope you enjoy this tale.

To reviewers concerned: Please. Keep reviewing. Let me know if I am doing well or worse. I would rather have a negative review than not have a review at all.

Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH!, though the foppish man from the previous chapter is of my ownership. Also, the plot is mine, but that much is obvious. If this tale was mine, the pairing included would not be mere filler.

**Chapter 2: Humility**

_**July 31**__**st**__**, early morning…**_

There is much to be said of Isshin Kurosaki. The men decorated in coats of sterile pallor and armed with the smallest, most intrusive syringes, particularly lead by one Ryuken Ishida, would testify to such an ambiguous claim. The depth of that man is shrouding in a cavernous pit, to which there is seemingly no bottom. Like that pit, there are mysteries, hidden at that core, which vacuums up any would-be discoverer and intimidates any onlooker. But, where there is a core, there is also a periphery, and this is what everyone pays attention to…what stands out. Isshin Kurosaki is more-or-less defined by this periphery, symbolized in extreme extroversion and flamboyance that it is sustained surprise he isn't locked up in a rubber room, and even more a surprise that he manages his own clinic.

Of course, reality is compared to what people are first exposed to. This would explain in psychological detail why the Kurosaki patriarch's scions-his son and two daughters-pay little heed to his over-the-top clowning and accept it as merely a piece of his personality.

How easily we forget…that deception is as much a part of our genetic code as the amino acids which structure the double helical construct.

Isshin remains somewhat of a mystery to this day, even to his own kids, who, as they haven't matured fully yet, do not take the time to perceive, nor do they observe hard enough. Having a loving father is satiable enough for the Kurosaki children, especially with the absence of a mother.

But that is a tale for another time.

Isshin can be characterized by several criteria, listed here. This could easily be stated as the 'Everyman' view: What everyone knows, in both the self (Isshin) and the onlookers.

1. Isshin has more energy and less inhibitions that a 1970s swinger. Though this is not to say that he is unfaithful (he never was, and to this day still remains loyal to his wife), his abundant exuberance makes him stand out wherever he goes, be it in the home or abroad. Much like Guy-sensei from the popular _Naruto _manga, Isshin is a quintessential, embarrassing-to-his-kids parent, and certainly one which the neighbors would gossip about.

2. With consideration to his parenting, very few come close in his willingness, caring, concern, and ability. With the departure of Masaki Kurosaki, the matriarch of the family, it has fallen onto his burly shoulders to tend to his family. Perhaps that was fortunate, as he was very much one who interacted with his children, be it Karin Kurosaki's soccer games, Yuzu Kurosaki's intrigue in the popular Don Kanonji, or playful discipline of his boy Ichigo. His home is also his job, surviving as a clinic by day and a loving home at night. But also it should be noted that, in spite of the preemptive strikes upon his son (especially during the mornings) Isshin Kurosaki has only struck his daughters _twice_.

3. Despite his overall goofiness, Isshin is an above average clinician. Although _he _should be the one that psychologists interview, at times, his procedural skills at handling a taxonomy of injuries, minor or major, do suffice, even though they are not a full-blown hospital. Given this, with exceptions given to the most debilitating injuries and treatments on his own kids (Nervousness for a doctor operating on a loved one is fatalistically paramount), Isshin's clinic has proven capable of handling whatever comes to its door.

However, these criteria are merely the periphery. When the need arises, as it does on occasion, the Kurosaki patriarch can get serious _very quickly_.

Though he slept soundly, in addition to Yuzu, Ichigo, and Rukia (whom he did not know was there), the same could not be said for Karin Kurosaki, who woke around the first hour of the dismal, umbra-shaded morning. Karin, though unaware of the extent of her own 'abilities' (a gift and a curse at times), woke in a shudder, as an unnatural zephyr of righteous cold pervaded throughout her room, and sent her out of her slumber. Grumbling incoherently about her 'need to sleep due to a school night', she found the anonymous, chilling air to be quite offensive to her petite body. The realization that warmer covers would be required came to her rudimentary cognition in haste, and dressed in summer-shine pajamas, she hurried to the corridor, taking note to be silent with each foot fall.

Karin had the gift to see specters of any sort, be they daemons from an namable world or more sapien spirits without legs, but otherwise bearing human likeness. She was not alone, in that her elder brother Ichigo had this same gift, though how each handled those gifts were other concerns. Ichigo was a doer, in that he tried to be a contemporary balm to the aching spirits…the physical tool which the emotional specters lacked. Karin however expressed apathy towards the dead…not graves, mind you, but the noisy, attention-seeking ghost that filtered around her vision. Her philosophy had always been to ignore the ghosts. If you do not bother them, they will not bother you. If you feed them attention, you will give them a reason to continue their antics. For an 11-year old tomboy, with so much of her life ahead of her, spirits and their nagging concerns did not phase her. Besides…she could always hand that responsibility to Ichigo.

Unfortunately, the issue of ghosts was force-fed to her, whether or not she wanted to. The past couple of months had been stuffed with paranormal happenings that science by itself could not logically blast away, and thus one had to turn to realms outside of science for explanation. She had unwittingly been the target of masked monsters, each as different as the next, each controlled by the most basic of needs. What frightened her was the realization that only a few could see these monsters, bounding around as putrid predators, seeking to feast on as many souls as they could gorge themselves on. However, much of it was foggy. Karin could easily dismissed many of the past instances as hallucinations brought about by stress/ She did not recall the trucker that rammed into their home, despite the nagging compulsion inside her head that insisted there indeed was a trucker, and not some fish-eyed monster which dismantled their wall. She could not help but wonder what had happened to that peculiar child she saw on the 16th, or that monster she had observed intent on attacking her and Yuzu both. These could be dismissed as dreams, and so Karin let them be classified as dreams.

However, the case with the latter two incidents could not so easily be shoved aside as surreal symbolism. At the 'Spontaneous Trips' performance of Don Kanonji, Karin had sworn she could see three individuals fighting unseen by the masses. Kanonji could be viewed by the panoramic audience, but only Karin could see the grotesque leaper with the chalk-white mask or hear prior to that the blood-curdling (and for her sake, nauseating) screams of the ghost. What she also saw was a ghost or something…it had been blurry…but she could've sworn that it had been an orange-haired teen by the same build as her brother, Ichigo. The only difference being that this 'double' had been dressed in a black kimono and carried a ridiculously big sword.

The most recent case was one that still bothered her, and it only usurped her mentality more. When she had been playing football some days ago, she had crossed paths with one of Ichigo's friends; a bronze-skinned giant who she had recognized as an owner of a parakeet. Having not the time to trade names, they both, 'Big Guy' and 'Ichigo's little sister' fell under the attack of another one of those monsters. Amazingly, the 'big guy' had been able to blow away the monster, but by the time she came back with her daddy, the big guy had disappeared.

However, she heard about his return to school and all, but still…the whole episode left her with more questions than answers.

For right now, Karin did not let her mind wander to another pointless debate over these issues, or what it all had to do with her brother. Her hunt for a blanket and the desire for sleep commanded her otherwise.

She found what she was looking for downstairs, within the clinic. Grumbling about why a simple blanket would have to be placed so far from the bedrooms, she wrapped herself within its folds, and proceeded as quietly back up, as she could.

"Darn Papa Goat-face…can't put in a simple closet to put everything…"

The raven-haired girl yawned, drowsiness seeking to claim her right there, before other noise, from the other side of the front door, garnered her attention. She heard incoherent sounds, garbled by the impromptu rain outside, organized as if they were carvings of speech. Curiosity got the hold of her, banishing her sleepiness for the time being, and she lent an ear to listen and penetrate beyond the deluge of raindrops outside.

She heard a man speaking, quietly and softly. She pressed her ear to the door to listen better.

"-to surpass his limits and plummet back into his flesh with realization. I cannot deny loving this show. But…perhaps it would be gauche of me to let you die. Yes…that would be inexcu…sable."

_Rats. I didn't get all of it._ Karin remarked, but she could heard the guttural strains in the man's voice. She listened more so. A heavy, clothed object scraped across the asphalt outside, as if being dragged, accompanied by simple splashes in pattern, as if someone was walking.

_What's going on out there?_

She pulled back her head, aware without reason that someone was standing right in front of the door. She waited, her breath held fast, before…

_Ding-Dong._

No response from Karin. She was too perturbed to make an immediate action, and conscious of the possibility that the doorbell would awaken 'Papa Goat-face'.

_Ding-Dong_.

Again Karin hesitated, choosing instead to listen. The cold voice spoke loudly as it could, showing a considerable strain that not even Karin could miss.

"I think…I will leave you here. There are doctors there I believe. You will be in flesh and bone now, so…you will be treated. The flesh is the cabin of the spirit, and within that spirit is a heart. Where…is…yours…? Bur…n,t…out…like…a…st..a..r? H…a…H..a…amus…zing…"

She heard three steps: _Splash. Splash. Splash. _And then _goosh…_as if a large object had slammed into the watery streets.

Then she opened the door, and observed finally the baroque reality before her.

Her voice caught hold, and it blasted at its peaks. "DADDY!! COME QUICK!! THERE'S A GUY OUT HERE! AND I DON'T THINK HE'S A BUM!!"

Again, it must be said that Isshin Kurosaki can get serious _very quickly_.

In one moment, she observed the outside flashflood that down poured before her. Three things of notice quickly garnered her midnight eyes, each in order of interest. The first thing, within proximity of her, lied just on the doormat, placed semi-properly, but shifted somewhat as if the person responsible for the 'gift' had challenging aesthetic senses. It was rectangular in appearance, simple on the whole, but bearing an exaggerated plastic coating, as if the gift-wrapper was overly and obsessively cordial in his technique.

The second thing that caught her sight was slightly more drastic: A kid laying inert and unconscious on the street, the rain indifferent to his comatose state. His dress was so unusual that Karin rubbed her eyes, erasing what vestiges of sleep might've remained, before confirming with added clarity the substance before her. Yeah, the kid was wearing a black kimono (now obviously drenched) with some white jacket covering the front. His hand clasped upon some sword feebly, the grip again signifying his unconscious. His head and the features of his face, however, struck her, for it was unique to her relatively short life. The boy, appearing about her age, had hair colored to be more fitting of a senior. White as the snows of Hokkaido, perhaps…and his face seemed creased, as if normally set in the position of a constant frown. She recognized this kid…the lonely ghost watching her home without derision

The third individual was what released her hold on her throat. Working in a clinic bore the unfortunate consequence of recognizing injuries at a glance. Hence, she could tell from the strangely, well-dressed man's position, lying sloppily in the middle of the street that something was terribly wrong. The fact that his face was dropped in a puddle sufficient enough to cover his mouth and nose did not bode well. It bode even worse that he wasn't moving.

"DADDY!! GET DOWN HERE!!"

By now she may have waken everyone, but preventing two deaths was worth one sleepless night.

Isshin bounded out of his room in a bathrobe with a ballerina's grace. His face bore that usual-I'm-so-happy-to-be-a-father look, and raced down to comfort his daughter.

Ichigo appeared next, an opposite look on his face in comparison to his father and half-dressed, his shirt questionably absent.

Yuzu appeared last, obviously concerned but still fatigued by the encroaching slumber, a pair of pajamas with ducklings decorating her wardrobe. One of her dolls, an ugly-looking ape, was carefully tucked under her arm.

"Karin-Chan! Did a nightmare scare you?! Come into Daddy's embrace, and-"

Ichigo silenced his father with an adroit dropkick, his concern expressed more in physical machinations rather than exaggerated verbosity. "Karin. What is-Oh. Crap." Ichigo responded first with his brotherly concern (for if he was a slave to anything, it was to his brotherly instincts), and then his eyes widened as he peered through the door, observing the unknown damage caused. His words hid his concern. "Uh,..dad?"

Isshin's response was a retaliatory yakuza kick to the back of his son's cranium.

"What is it my delinquent son?!"

"I reserve the need to call for a medic."

Ichigo pointed from his place under his father's sturdy frame, back out to the monsoon present. Isshin looked briefly, and then upon the feet of the Kurosaki patriarch was a furrowed brow, despite his inerasable smile.

Time to get serious.

"Ichigo. Clinic's open. Lets go!"

"Ok pops. Which one first?"

Isshin's eyebrow raised up. "What do you mean, which one? He's bleeding like a pig over there son! Grab his legs!"

Ichigo's eyebrows raised a millimeter, before resting back into status with realization. He looked to Karin, then back to the boy in the kimono, to Isshin, and then back to Karin. His darker-haired sister caught the glimpse of realization in his eye, and nodded in her direction.

Isshin, meanwhile, turned into a corporal with the observation of a patient in need. Despite the lack of umbrella, and the failure to perceive the _other_ patient, the Kurosaki patriarch bounded into the merciless rain, reaching the middle of the street within three lunges.

"Son! Don't be afraid of a little blood, now! Need your help over here!" Isshin barked, his waving hands betraying the depth of his concern.

Ichigo did not move at first, but tried his hand at a little subtle acknowledgement. Aware that his other baby sister was watching, he rolled his head from the direction of Karin, to the boy outside the door, and then back to Karin. He repeated the action, before taking his feet, conscious of his father's hearty bellows and threats to ground him for inaction.

It was apparent then, what he was getting at, and it was only further clarified by Yuzu's statement. "Did he get r-run over? T-that man in the street?"

"Yuzu, can't you see Whitey over there?"

"Wh-Whitey? You mean his skin?"

"Oh, great…"

Ichigo slipped back into a silent guardian, as he bounded into the cold rain, his lack of protective clothing all but forgotten in obeisance towards his father. In moments later, with Isshin still bounding and Ichigo lagging behind, the father-son pair carried the sharp-dressed man into their home, Isshin at the head and Ichigo at the legs. The pair disappeared into the area reserved for the clinic, both knowing that this situation qualified as a bloomin' emergency.

"Yuzu! Please call an ambulance! Daddy might need some help with this one! And be sure to go to bed, you two! Its still a school night!"

"What about me?"

"You're a delinquent anyway."

"……"

Yuzu cut her emotional concerns for a moment, and retreated to the den to retrieve her phone, her ape-doll clutched hard under her arms. This left Karin alone, still observing what Ichigo had seen, and yet what struck her as darn confusing. Certainly, if her father could've seen him, wouldn't he had grabbed the white-haired kid? Albeit, she wondered why that kid was wearing that kimono, but reason eluded is place with the deceased. This of course reaffirmed the confusion, for she could now see the blood permeating from his body, filtering into the street and merging with the abandoned rainwater.

Decisions are often the point of impulsivity. The fallen boy in the weird kimono was mesmerizing to the raven-haired sibling. She recognized him from earlier that night, crouching on the roof and observing her house coldly. The realization of that small kid, no longer watching but unconscious of two, scratched at her insides. Desire to interrogate welled inside, for she did not appreciate being spied on, but his condition was apparent. A limbo of peace and yet bodily strife struck her, and she looked back at her family. Ichigo and her daddy still remained in the clinic, working on the mystery man. Yuzu remained in the den, dutifully dialing at the phone.

She moved at her own speed, wandering into the diving rain. She saw the plastic-wrap parcel still laying without notice of passersby, and quickly grabbed it, expecting it to belong to the boy. Before allowing her own body to be swallowed by the pelting rain, and further worsening the cold which scraped at her in the beginning, she nestled the parcel under her arm, feeling almost a glass-like hardness inside. Judging quickly the best way to carry the white-crowned boy, she carefully draped his arms over her shoulders, and hoisted his legs around her waist. Cautious to retain her hold on him, and keep him unconscious, she treaded with trepidation back into the house, just in time to hear the bellow of her father.

"Karin-chan! Close the door! Daddy doesn't want you to get a cold!"

"Yes Daddy!"

The door swung shut loudly, and she hurried up the stairs. Yuzu still speaking to the hospitial, relaying their address as best as an 11-year old could. Good for Karin…she was mindful of how weird she looked, hunched over and her arms faceting two holes…if one could not see the strange boy now piggy-backing on her small frame. Yuzu would not be busy for long, and Isshin's serious dialogue with her 'Ichi-nii' was loud enough to let her know how serious the other man's wounds were. Briefly she wondered if she would be of any use; That thought was banished just as quickly, for if Daddy saw her wetter condition, he would fret more over her than the man.

So, refreshing her grip, she ascended the stairs as best she could, the boy's body going deadweight on her back and the plastic-wrap parcel tucked in a tight crevasse between her lithe arms and the unknown boy's legs.

From the second-floor corridor she could still hear the loudness of her father, blasting out words that signified the need to operate. Among them, which Karin could only catch in pieces than sentences were "Scalpel", "Gloves", "Defibulator", and "Watch it, Ichigo!" These soon drowned out into mangled garble, as Karin tapped the bedroom door open, and lugged herself inside.

A few more steps to her bed, and she laid the boy across her sleeping mattress, the parcel quickly accompanying him. He was still unconscious, still wet, and still bleeding. This forced Karin to be creative in her approach, quickening her methods. She was struck once more that a ghost that is dead was bleeding as if wounded, his marks placed at his upper legs and gut, as if some knife had been stabbed at him. It did not make much sense to her, but helping at the clinic did give its advantages in first aid.

Conscious again of the blanket she had pilfered from downstairs, Karin wrapped the boy the best she could. It was good for her that his stabbings was so concentrated in one area (that of the gut and the torso), though she had no way of dealing with any internal injuries. She could only stop the bleeding the best she could, with what rudimentary knowledge she had.

She realized real quick that she would have to remove pieces of the boy's clothes, a fact that incurred an inappropriate blush. She vaguely wondered if Ichigo would be coming to help her, but that seemed unlikely. Trying to stifle her embarrassment and the spreading color on her face, Karin rushed out, returning with some gauze to mend the situation. She removed first the white jacket-like garment with the number ten emblazoned on it, before then tearing of the sleeve, where another stab wound had been placed.

Her primary embarrassment turned to a need to hurry, as she continued mending what she could. Gauze was liberally placed on the specter being, and when that was not enough, Karin would borrow rags. She enveloped the white-haired boy's middle with the blanket she had obtained, tightening it as much as her little body could do, and she dotted the various other areas-his arms, his cheek, and…embarrassingly, his upper legs-with what medical bandages she could acquire, drying his wet, humane form as best he could.

She breathed out in perhaps exasperation as she considered herself finished. The boy, who looked like her own age, thankfully slept through her whole mock first-aid. She could do no more without Ichi-nii's help.

"Not a bad job, if I say so myself."

"What's not a bad job?" A voice popped up behind her.

_Oh crap!_ Yuzu had finally come back. Karin turned around, her body trying to hide the ghost that she could see but her fraternal twin could not. Yuzu clutched her ape-doll still, fasting it in an unnatural vice. Her face was one that needed reassurance, for despite not seeing the whole picture, it still obviously weighed on her.

"Uh…not a bad job…how Daddy handled it! Yeah! Daddy was all Captain Commando there for a moment."

Yuzu gave a disbelieving glance, but her features melted to accept this lie as truth. "The ambulance came. D-Daddy wanted to go to see what exactly happened to the man."

"Yeah…" Karin responded. She may be tough, but Yuzu was more prone to letting go of her emotions. Guarding her words would be advisable.

"I-I-Ichigo's supposed to stay with us, until-" Yuzu trailed off, obvious to Karin that perhaps she shouldn't have seen what she did. Karin sighed, and made as any elder sibling might do. She motioned over to her fair-haired sibling, and soothed her with an arm on the shoulder, leading her to bed. Hopefully, sleep would accommodate her being upset.

"C'mon Yuzu. Goat-chin wanted us in bed for tomorrow. And I'm beat anyway."

"Okay."

Karin was never the motherly type. That fell to Yuzu, hands-down. However, Karin was not made of iron, and did still love her family. Hence, she did not feel embarrassment in steering her little sister to her bed, nor did she feel it when she tucked her in.

Yuzu ventured into sleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, her grip on the ape-doll never waningi intensity. This left Karin back to her current predicament.

Where was _she _going to sleep?

The boy still laid wrapped in his gauze bonds. Perhaps Karin was fortunate. Yuzu didn't inquire as to why the blanket was folded the way it was, or why there was that parcel on the foot of the bed. Nevertheless, Karin did need to go to sleep.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

There seemed only a few trains of logic. The boy, even if he was a ghost, should not be moved. She needed to sleep, but she wasn't going to ask Yuzu, and had to much pride to sleep with Ichigo. That left as he only alternative to sleep in the same bed with the strange kid.

"Oh…man…" She responded in exasperation. If Ichigo found out about this…

Despite her distaste she did what she had to. Karin pulled the covers back to allow him underneath, before cradling herself in on the other side. Aware of what sort of reaction this would cause, Karin made sure to cover his head with her bedspread, and turned her own ambitions to slumber.

Perhaps that was a good thing. For she vaguely remembered, just before the jump to dreamland, that Ichigo stuck his head into the room, now the interim patriarch of the home. Seeing nothing upsetting or baffling, he silently closed the door, and went about to his own slumber.

--

Dawn trickled in from the clear window on the other side, the light acting in unison with a soft, care-free breathing which stirred him from his sleep. He felt surprisingly warm, warmer than he could ever recall feeling his long, remembered life. He also felt alien and disoriented. There was pain, there was that-be it the throbbing head or the numbed arm or the pulsating digs in his abdomen. That he could remember. What he could not figure out is why the floor which he laid on felt too soft and too dry to be the rain-soaked concrete which he had left consciousness.

His hands groped around, fondling sheets of a soft silk. His eyes did not open, for fear of impoliteness he may invite. Instead, his delicate hands navigated his immediate space, quickly tracing back to his own body. He was not dead, doomed to be reincarnated as a pure spirit without memories of Momo and Granny and Matsumoto. The fact he could remember his wounds told him that. No, he was in an alien location, but his nagging perception told him of another potential mess he may have landed himself in.

_I'd better not be where I think I am…_

His eyes tentatively opened, and he saw his body shielded by a massive cover. He immediately studied his body, aware of the man's attacks on him. Toshiro Hitsugaya was surprised to see all of his wounds covered, even around his…lower torso…However, he could not find Hyourinmaru on his person, and mentally supplied a call for the zanpakuto.

_Hyourinmaru…_

Inside his mind there was no response. The ice dragon, his companion and his arms for so long, either refused to deign an answer, or was silenced.

_Hyourinmaru…_

Again…there was only blistering silence inside his head. Outside he could hear the serenades of birds and unknown, soft breaths…but inside his blue-ice world…he was alone.

_HYOURINMARU!!_

The dragon did not answer.

Anger grated and boiled inside him. No wonder he could not find his zanpakuto…even if he had it, his dragon was MIA. Annoyances aside, and intent to solve such a mystery, he sat up, pushing back the cover.

He did not expect to be sharing a bed with someone, nor did he expect to be put in such a room at all.

The room was more fitting of a child, so physiologically he might've belonged, but with his irritations already making him cranky, he only gave partial attention to his surroundings. The pair of beds on opposite sides of the room appeared befitting of elementary students, each a twin of the other. Other standard commodities of humans were present, as he briefly scanned everything. Bureau drawers for the storage of clothing, a closet for specialized garments, dolls on the opposite side, a picture of some young woman, a poster of a man in small, white trousers, long green socks, and kicking some black-and-white sphere on the balls of his feet, and…

His teal eyes focused on the girl on the other side of the bed he was in.

_Oh. The other twin._

Sleeping to his right was one Karin Kurosaki, who he remembered from his observations of the house. The one who could see hollows and pluses but hadn't the potential to be a danger or a concern to himself. The dwarf before Ichigo Kurosaki…who was his major concern…

_Why couldn't Kuchiki-taicho do this?_ Hitsugaya found himself questioning again, frustrated at the turn of events. A parcel, which he remembered the dapper man from last night or whenever had in one of his hands, laid on the raven-haired girl's lamp-stand.

"Ugh…pointless…" Toshiro remarked. At this point, he'd much rather be doing his paperwork than wake up in a bed, shared with some gi-…

_Wait a minute…didn't Matsumoto say that…Oh Kami-sama, please tell me I didn't-_

The girl-Karin-stirred slightly, as his palm collided with his forehead.

There were too many questions revolving in his head, and it forced a headache to fortify itself with his clanging skull. He felt weak also, but why he did not know. The man he had the unfortunate task of slaughtering was obviously insane, but moving for Toshiro was a painful chore. He could not discern the logic, but there it was. His torso ached as he bent to remove himself from the bed, his Soul Reaper kimono securely wrapped in a blanket he had no memory of wrapping. He had no memory of the gauze or bandages on his various body parts. He remembered killing the annoying man-the 'seven-sealed' devil-as he called himself…but did Abarai reap his soul?

_"Amusing, is your perplexity, that you can think to reap a vacant being. Ha. Ha."_

What in Soul Society did that mean?

Toshiro grimaced, his scowl deepening as he looked for an escape route. Though the reprieve was appreciated, he did not want to wear out his welcome. Common sense told him that there was no way he could've _shun-po_ed from the concrete sidewalk outside to this plain bed inside, and thus he had to have been carried.

_Damn. I'm gonna need that gadget soon…_

Erasing the families memories would be important, but secondary to the mainstream problem. He had to meet up with Urahara and Abarai…if he could. Of course, of paramount concern was his escape route, and he wondered how he was going to achieve that.

Again, he studied the room…a door to his right and a window to his left. The darker-haired twin-the one that was spiritually aware, but the lesser of his concern-continued to turn behind him, the space which he had settled vacated in haste. Toshiro distinctly noted to himself, how troublesome and arduous walking was…last night, before that fool showed up, he felt lighter than a feather. Now…it almost felt like he was swimming. Weakness that he had never felt before clamped onto his legs, his arms, and his body.

In front of his was the other girl, the twin that couldn't see spirits, who slumbered more soundly that her sister. Curious, he made an exchange of glances, first at the golden-haired twin, then to the darker-haired twin Karin, then back to the one the reports labeled Yuzu. Standing at the midpoint between their beds, he could see a pronounced difference, as if he was looking at the contrasts of night and day. What could be expected of a girl (at least, what he could remember from the various studies back in Soul Society) ornately hung on Yuzu's side. Dolls of all sorts of taxonomies and imaginings were stacked like soldiers in single file, staring out past where their master lay. The lamp was frilly, and the bed held pastels of brightest, gaudiest colorations: Hues of pink, yellow, and orange sought to blind Hitsugaya. On the other side, things were geared more for a masculine feel. This did not surprise the 10th company captain in the least, as he had already studied Karin during his observations. Girls typically had a feminine mold to them. This one could be mistook for a dude at a glance.

His mission came back to him, and he nodded in his thoughts.

_Kuchiki is still here…I can feel her spiritual pressure. She might recognize me…ugh…this is going to be troublesome. _

The choice was made. The window was his escape…for now.

He could come back later, when he had a more physical body to use.

Wincing with every other step, he ambled over to the window seal, and carefully jimmed it open (he lamented Hyourinmaru's unexplained absence as his fingers worked). A burst of breezy air and a torrent of shrill bird song greeted his face and ears, and he frowned at the amplified noise.

"Oh, Yuzu…give me five more minutes here…"

_Oh damn._ Toshiro chanced a glance. The girl who could see he was sitting up, and he hesitated, getting a better look at her now, with a closer gap separating them. Panic faded for a moment, as he watched her rubbed the vapors of sleep from her eyes, her sable hair in an askew mess from its place on the pillow. He found her pajamas to be appealing somewhat…

His hesitation cost him. Karin focused on him, standing with a leg out of the window, blinked, and shouted "What do you think you're doing?!"

The other twin stirred briefly from the outburst. Toshiro contemplated deigning a reply.

"You can't be any better! Get back in the bed!"

An eyebrow raised. Could she been the reason he was inside instead of on that sidewalk?

The raven-haired girl leaped out of her bed, and pointed at Toshiro with an authoritative glare. Her eyes were limpid, but full of a fire that did not belong in a child's eyes.

"Why're you snooping around my house?"

Toshiro humped in reply, unconcerned with giving her an answer when he had yet to achieve his own. He turned back to the window.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!"

A hand clamped on his shoulder, and he returned to meet her eyes with a icy glare.

"…Remove your hand."

"No!"

"If you keep shouting you're going to wake your sister."

"I want to know why you're snooping around my house."

"I've wasted enough time as it is. Leave me alone." Toshiro grabbed her hand, and forcibly cast it aside.

"Karin…what's going on? Who're you talking to?"

_Time to fly._ Toshiro perceived an opportunity, with Karin's attention now on her sister. He hadn't the patience after last night to deal with a kid's interrogation, and he still had his own questions to filter out. His power seemed detached…and it didn't make any sense…

He jumped to the roof, and lept away, expecting to fly through the air with the aid of _shun-po_…

…Only to find in the next moment, to find his face smashing into the grass outside.

"Hey!" the nagging (to Toshiro, anyway) voice came from above. Karin stuck her head out to see him land on his head. Bruises were already beginning to form on his angled countenance.

"Are you okay?"

"Karin…my alarm hasn't gone off yet…"

"Never mind, Yuzu. Hey!" Karin peered at him like a hawk, watching him very much the same way he watched her household last night. "Why'd you do that?"

Toshiro didn't respond. He should've flown farther than that…what the heck happened?

"_With every touch of my bare epidermis, I inject a little or a lot of positive energy-what you…you can call spiritual pressure-into whomever I touch. Friend or foe. You reached your glass ceiling sometime ago, little dragon. Now, you are overstraining. Like a super giant, crimson as my blood…your power is beyond your grasp. In a few seconds…since my hands are still on your face…that power will burn out, and you will have nothing._

"_Let me bring you down to the rat's level_.

_"Let me bring you down to the surface."_

Toshiro was so focused in thought, mulling over the word's of the insane man, that he failed to notice the incoming object-a shoe, of all things-spiraling down from Karin's hand. The shoe struck his face, pulling him outside of his thoughts.

"Hey! Are you crazy? What was that for?!"

"For ignoring me! And being ungrateful! I pull you out of the rain, and this is how you thank me? Geez!"

The indignation on her face was palpable, and Toshiro found himself at a loss for words. So this temperamental brat was the one who helped him…?

Toshiro rubbed his face, having to endure both the striking power of cut grass and a shoe. His mood was collapsing already, and he was not having a pleasant good time. Still…the answer was logical…

"Karin?" Yuzu's voice came from the window interior. "Who's outside? Is it Daddy?"

"No. Just a peeping tom of a ghost."

"I am _not a peeping tom!!"_ Toshiro roared. Goodness, wasn't this kid 11 or something?!

Toshiro kept a handle on his anger, his hand covering his face briefly. His mood would not make any of this easier, but he still had some decency, and if what this girl was saying was true, then…he'd have to swallow his pride, for once.

"Hey."

"What?"

"……ugh…Thanks." Toshiro muttered under his breath.

Karin tilted her head, wondering what he was talking about. "What? Speak up!"

"I said thank you, you idiot!" Toshiro roared again. His face temporarily creased to anger, but softened when he studied the girl. "For…helping me…"

Karin, flushing somewhat, only nodded from the second-floor. Satisfied with her response, he turned away from the girl, and ventured in the general direction of the Urahara shop.

"Hey!" Karin called again. By now she had roused the entire block. "I didn't get your name!"

"That's because," Toshiro muttered under his breath, walking unseen by all save a few, "I didn't give it."

Karin made to call again, but Ichigo came in at that time, and shouted "Hey! Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

The mystery, for Karin, would have to wait. That parcel failed not in catching her midnight eyes.

--

_**Later that day…**_

__Fury did not begin to suit Toshiro's mood as he left Urahara's shop, his face a crimson as burgundy wine as he stomped out of the shop. He did not care much for Urahara as a person-the 10th company captain found the cheerfulness of the hat-and-clogs shop owner to be a little chafing-but he knew that as an information broker, he was top-notch. Inventions were almost as much a part of the former 12th company captain as his apparatus for breathing, and so getting a gigai from the shop owner did not bother him.

Having to explain _why _irked Toshiro.

Urahara did explain a number of things to him, things which Toshiro did not notice at first. For one, as he pointed out…for some reason, his spiritual pressure was completely 'ka-put'. He retained the ability of being psychically aware, but still, he was vacant of all of his spiritual powers. Urahara had joked enigmatically as he brought this up, saying that 'my, we have an epidemic on our hands! Time to fix up a cure!', much to Hitsugaya's chagrin, but the lively shopkeeper was able to diagnose his problem fairly well. He had brought up this ridiculous diagrams to bolster his explanation, which only irritated the young captain even further.

_"Basically, captain, what you have is similar to a muscle that's, say, gone through hypertrophy. Ya know, kinda like when you can only do 500 push-ups regularly _(He produced a diagram of a bunny performing said action) _but instead, you one day do 5000 push-ups. Overstraining is your case, as opposed to my…other…customer….Ha ha! Anyway, it isn't muscle-strength you've exhausted today, no sirree, but your spiritual pressure's dried up. If you overstrain your arm, for example, you lose the ability to bend it or work it as fast as before, see? But In your case, since you went more than double your spiritual pressure against a hollow…you kinda lost your powers. Can't call on them for a while. I've never seen this before, but I can look around."_

_"How long until my powers come back?" _Hitsugaya had asked.

_"Dunno. Like I said, I've never seen anything like this before. I'm sure the 12__th__ division back in Soul Society would be interested to see this. Until they come back naturally, you'd best just lay low for a while. Find a hotel, or something. You can stay at-"_

_"No. I'm here on business."_

_"Then why doncha call up the Captains then?"_

Urahara offered a cabalistic smile then, and Hitsugaya's tongue ran for cover. If any of the captains found out about this…he'd be the laughing stock of Soul Society. His pride was worth that much.

_"No. I'll handle it myself. Besides, like you said, Kurotchuri would be on my case the moment news reached his ears. I don't feel like dealing with him anyway. He 's bugging me enough about some weapon he cooked up…"_

After that, Toshiro parted ways, more than enduring in the face of Urahara's continued jabs at his expense. Retrieving the gigai, he had to formulate his own plan, and he did not like the premise.

He still had to complete his mission for Byakuga, and retrieve Rukia Kuchiki, but now without his powers…if the boy Ichigo offered resistance, he was as good as done. He had been observing the boy's efforts and his spiritual pressure. It did not make sense for a household with three gross spiritual pressures (Ichigo, Kuchiki, and Karin Kurosaki) to exist and not attract a hollow. A hollow would come-either Rukia had her reasons for remaining, or the boy may have something hidden.

He still wasn't sure yet. It felt surprisingly empty without Hyourinmaru's noble banter. He did not like it, and it made him feel small again.

Only Momo made him feel small.

"Ugh…damnit…"

The lost of his powers demanded one of two things-either he would have to take a side trip, and find a way to regain his powers quicker, or he would need more guile to handle the situation. Ichigo was strong as an ox, but dumber than a goldfish. Also, there existed the problem of Rukia herself. She would recognize him instantly as a captain, and inquire why he was here to begin with (Toshiro was surprised he had been able to evade her for so long). Of course, he did have…

His phone flipped out from his pocket, and he dialed the appropriate numbers. A couple of rings proceeded the answer.

"Hey."

"Abarai."

"Oh, hey captain! You went missing on me last night. Thought a hollow got ya."

"You idiot! There wasn't a hollow near where Kuchiki was!"

"You found Rukia?" A hint of concern was easily detectable in Renji's voice.

"Yeah. I need you to try to get her, and return to Soul Society. Something came up on my end."

"Really." Renji was not known for subtly. The sarcasm on his side was palpable.

"Yeah."

"All right. I'll keep watch. But if anyone touches Rukia I'm gonna-"

"One other thing. Take a look around the hospitals. Find a black-haired man with a black hat and a black suit. We may need to reap him."

"…Whatever you say. I'm on it."

_Click. _

"Hmm. If he wasn't so concerned about Kuchiki…"

Toshiro silenced himself to his thoughts, and found his feet leading away. The slowness of his walk chafed him, making him long for his _shun-po_ abilities. He also found it a bit too warm for his liking.

He lost tack of time, which failed to bother him for once. He realized his location as his feet mechanically moved along, nearing what he recalled was named a 'vacant lot'. His eyes scanned over it, observing what appeared to be nets in strange geometric patterns, and he say upon the greens more kids. Teal eyes rolled in his head, and he simply turned around, walking without a destination.

"Kurosaki! Hurry up and kick it!" A male voice shouted behind him.

"Alright already!" A female, one that he recognized vaguely, responded. He heard the kick and the sound of an object hurdling through space, but he did not realize its pertinence until two things passed.

The first was a voice that responded, "Hey! Watch out kid!"

The second was the harshly-slugged object, a ball, smacking him on the back of the skull, and condemning him to unconsciousness for the second time in a day.

"Darn, Kurosaki. You knocked out another one."

--

_End Chapter._


	3. Chapter 3: Adopted Puppy

It seems that you enjoy my work. I hope only I can further sated your tastes, as the story continues…

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, though various original characters debuting in this story are of my ownership. The Seven-Sealed Devil is one such example.

Enjoy.

**Chapter 3: Adopted Puppy**

**July 31****st****, Afternoon…**

Everyone knew just how hard Karin Kurosaki could kick, no matter what object was in the path of said foot. Be it a ball, a shin, or a weighted prism, the raven-haired tomboy knew how to strike with an almost freakish force that it made kids her age flinch in fantasy. Fortunately, it was not so much her sneakers as it was whatever ended up behind her feet that earned his a wincing reputation. Her parental episodes aside (which Isshin Kurosaki would testify to), Karin had on more than one occasion landed a rather large bruise on an unfortunate's noggin. Teachers had been somewhat reluctant to ever allow her near a sphere, not because she was a bad player, but because she might accidentally hurt someone.

The "Go" button was always pressed down when it came to sports.

Of course, Karin could never be dissuaded from her football aspirations. Hence the reason she found a reverie in a thankfully dry vacant lot which only she, her four friends, and the parakeet guy who had helped her out. Her family also knew about it, but that couldn't be helped. Her daddy always had a habit of finding his progeny, as if he had a built-in radar in his head.

Normalcy, as she would come to realize, was about to shift further more.

She did not forget about the white-haired boy who she had patched up that morning. Ichigo had made a point of asking what exactly she did, but Karin evaded the question with temperamental verbal blasting. Being the older brother, and with Yuzu's peacekeeping interference, Karin was able to avoid answering, though she wondered if she had been blushing in response. Going through school was easy, but still she had to wonder what that short midget was doing there, outside her home, in the first place. Again, she had mysteries in her head, and she was wanting to solve them all.

The plastic-wrap parcel, which she still had not opened yet, settled snug in her backpack. What it all meant had two effects-it made her anxious, and thus it made her want to erase that anxiety.

Thus, football seemed the perfect remedy.

She did not notice how much vigor she was putting into her kicks, even as Donny and Ryouhei shouted to her, pointing out how much the net expanded with each strike.

"Kurosaki! Hurry up and kick it!" Totuin shouted.

"Alright already!"

She finally did notice when her kick-as it was prone to do-knocked the ball outside of the lot bounds. The ball was sent into a spiral spin, akin to a bullet from a revolver, sailing farther from the greens than she could've anticipated. The ball defied all reason, evading trees and the net alike, and careening towards a figure who was no retreating from the lot…a kid with familiar white hair…

Donny called out to the stranger. "Hey! Watch out kid!"

His warning was futile. The ball struck almost the small moment he finished his statement, colliding into the back of his head like a Western boxer's jab. The sound was innocent and betraying of the effect-rubber twanging of a sturdy skull. The boy lurched forward, and fell-face first into the ground.

"Darn, Kurosaki. You knocked out another one."

"I didn't mean it."

"You say it like its nothing!"

"I didn't kill him."

"He ain't movin'!"

"That's because he's knocked out! Idiot!"

Amazing, how she had more testosterone-and guts-than her four boy playmates combined. After several seconds of waiting, Karin and her cadre neared the knocked out kid. Confusion struck her hard, for while she was not a genius, she knew a thing about ghosts.

Yuzu and her daddy did not see the boy when he was laid out in the rain this morning. Only Ichigo and she did, which meant he was some sort of ghost. Physically, she should not be able to touch him-nothing should. And yet…

"Yep." Her voice piped up, catching herself unawares. "Its him."

"You know this guy, Kurosaki?"

"Uh…no-uh..yea…uh…why're you asking anyway?"

The truth was divided. She didn't know the guy's name, but this was the second time she had seen the shorty in need of a nurse. She cast her eyes over the kid, the five of them surrounding him as if he were an exhibit in a museum. He was dressed like them, except with a more prim and proper dress-They wore tee-shirts and shorts. He wore a black, button-down shirt and khaki pants in the mid-point of summer. His hair would suggest modifications, as if he had dyed it, also spraying it to make it able to defy gravity. He looked ironically peaceful, his mouth curling out of a scowl into a content smile. Again Karin was struck by her confusion. She could see him, that was obvious, but why could her friends see him also?

"Kurosaki. I think you killed him."

"I didn't do that!"

"Look at him! He must be brittle as my mom's china!"

Karin secretly had to agree.

"Well…I don't know about you, but I sure don't wanna be near him when he wakes up! Bye!"

Given to cravenly impulses, and permitted that luxury as they are, Karin's friends decided to quickly ditch her before either the boy woke or she could retort at his recommendation. They feared her kicking power just as much as any spectator, and like a certain Isshin Kurosaki, they had been on the receiving end of an object propelled by her foot.

Of course, they were quite handy in playing football for their speed, which they showcased just now.

"Hey! Don't leave me here! I'm not a darn nurse!" Karin shouted at their retreating backs. She made a vow mentally to kick their heads off for ditching her the next time she saw them, but she shrugged, and looked again at the inert boy on the ground.

"…Man…the stuff I get stuck with. You better thank me double for this."

Karin crouched down, setup a method to life up his dead-weight body, and settling for his arm. Wrapping it around her neck, she held to the white-haired kid up and walked him over to a vacant bench in the lot. She laid him down, amazed he slept through the whole transfer, but did not let her tongue rebel and upset that situation. Instead, she merely opted to wait and see if he would wake.

Several minutes passed, and such a prediction came true. The boy flashed his eyes open, which Karin did not immediately realize herself (she sat with her back to his supine frame). His head inched slightly to study the back that was overshadowing him, and his snow-white eyebrows inched up a bit. He recognized that hair, even if his powers were shot.

He made to speak, only to have his hand flinch, reacting to the pain his head was feeling. This prompted Karin's attention, and she turned, her face a jumble of both cockiness and concern.

"You awake? I didn't think I kicked that hard."

"Hnn." came the response from the supine boy. He turned to a sitting position, tugging his legs away from her general direction, and planting them with an ice-cold finality.

"Sorry about kicking your head off."

"…." Again the boy said nothing. Instead he gazed at her, a strange mute in comparison to the rather irritable child that tried to fly out of her window. She tracked his gaze, and found his teal, seastone colored eyes to be unique…distinguished…much like his permafrost-white hair.

"I know you can talk."

"So What?"

"So?! You still haven't told me your name yet!"

"…Does it matter?"

Karin's face flushed with indignation. The boy's reclaimed arrogance was starting to get on her nerves, fairly quickly. "Yeah it does! I'd _like _to know why you were around my house this morning! And I'd like a name to call you…but I guess calling Whitey can't hurt."

'Whitey' frowned deep as he heard this, but he shrugged. "You're just a kid. Doesn't bother me."

"Look in a mirror! You're an elementary student too!"

"I am not an elementary student!"

The boy stood up, a hand fumbling in a pocket and producing a phone. Karin gave a quizzical expression at the appearing item.

"Are you even old enough to own a phone?"

The boy gave a look at her, his expression unfaltering from the predetermined frown. With a casual glance, he pocketed the phone back as quickly as he produced it, and without any further regard to his 'ex-nurse', he made to venture out of the lot.

Karin's face brightened more in anger at who she could easily classify as a jerk. "Hey! I'm not finished talking to you! That's rude you know!"

The white-crowned boy looked back, the look of indifference and irritation still audibly etched on his face. "It's just as rude to knock out people with balls, Kurosaki."

"That was an acci-wait a minute. How do you know my last name?"

Frustration was obvious on his face, apparently letting a miscalculation escape his lips. He sighed in agitation, and spoke once more. "If I tell you my name, will you leave me alone?"

"Maybe." Karin lied.

"…You're lying to me, aren't you?"

"Nope."

The boy rolled his eyes, still disbelieving, but he put aside his over concern. "I'm Cap-…Toshiro Hitsugaya. Pleasure to meet you."

Now it was Karin's turn to be rather disbelieving. "Karin Kurosaki."

"I didn't asked for your-"

"Then why'd you give yours in the first place?!" Karin interjected.

Toshiro again fell silent, and decided apparently that discretion is the better part of valor. Without deigning an answer, he ventured off, his shoes now picking up the grass as if in disdain.

Karin, however was proving a rather persistent bulldog. Even though Toshiro tried a silent treatment- ignoring her seemed appropriate-but after several blocks, and multiple veins cropping on his head, Toshiro stopped and whirled around in agitation.

He did not realize how close she was following him, but Karin herself could admonish herself for dogging him as much as she did. His act of halting and turning both caught her attention, but not her feet's attention. Hence, when Toshiro gathered the words to say, he realized just how close she was into his personal space.

"….Why are you following me?"

"I want to ask you something."

"…My business is my business. Leave it."

"How come Ichi-ni and I could only see you last night and now everyone can see you?" Karin blurted out. Manners aside, she was getting frustrated with the stonewalling of the ice-cold Hitsugaya.

Toshiro stopped and looked around at his surroundings. He The cars were passing by, and he coud see that night was approaching. He had one last tactic to try for evasion, but he wasn't sure if it would work…

"It'll get dark soon. Shouldn't you get home before your parents worry?"

"I'll be fine. What about you? Aren't _your _parents gonna worry?"

Toshiro's brow furrowed more so, and he turned away from Karin in frustration. To say he was getting into a chipper mood was a falsehood, and Karin could see that, but she could also see he was hiding something.

"I don't have any parents." He responded after a while, "And I don't have a home. I'm different than you."

An idea sprouted into her head, and she grinned with mischief. Maybe there was a way to get her answers after all. "How 'bout you come to my place? Yuzu won't mind feeding another mouth."

"No thank you. I have a job to do."

"Like snooping on my house?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me." Karin challenged, folding her arms. Toshiro gave a backwards glance, at the girl, studying her from the ball tucked in her sack to the baseball cap on her head. His eyes were condescending, but they softened briefly.

"Hnn. Fine. I don't have anything better to do. Where do you live?"

Karin raised an eyebrow, not expecting Toshiro to give in that easily. She resisted the urge to comment on how he should already know, giving she had spied him watching her home, but she took her blessings as she could. She pointed to her right. "This way, Toshiro!"

"Its Hitsugaya."

"Whatever, Shiro-chan."

She heard an audible groan of agitation. She herself could feel herself beam.

Perhaps now she could give this kid his darn package back…

--

_**Later that evening…**_

__Toshiro was for once at a loss for words, as he ran through the events pertaining to his current predicatment. Though regarded as a genius by the measures of Soul society, he gambled mentally that not even the tactical Aizen or Yamamoto could've anticipated the hot seat he found himself in. For the moment, he found it comparable to the pointless captain meetings that usually degenerated into one of three outcomes-Zaraki challenging someone, Kyoraku trying to get everyone drunk, or Kurotchuri agitated everyone equally with his high-brow attitude.

Only difference between this mad house and the one in Soul Society were the inmates themselves. Hitsugaya had little personal friendship with many of his peers-as the youngest, he automatically had to contend with an age gap (and Captain Ukitake's habit of procuring sweets for him did not help his guilt either). However, in comparing the Kurosakis with the 13 captains…well, he'd rather contend with _their _eccentric patterns than those of the family he observed right now.

When he had made a point of observe his situation-that is, the Kurosaki household-he had only observed the spiritual pressures of the dwellers within. He did not care or bother with the personalities of each denizen, for that, at the time, was irrelevant. He predicted that he would quickly whisk Rukia Kuchiki away, and be back with Matsumoto and Momo again.

Now he was paying for his lack of foresight.

Karin Kurosaki was an eccentricity that he could not quite put his finger on. She had saved him altruistically. She asked for gratitude, sure, but her words did not seem loaded with sincerity. She was truly a reverse of what females should be, as described by the Soul Society archives, and carried herself effeminately. Whether this was who she was or if this was a façade, Toshiro did not know. He was loathe to words, and her attempts, prickly as they might've been, did…make his curious, and therefore confused by this newfound curiosity. She was also persistent to a fault; though he almost could feel enjoyment from her granting him some attention, he did not care much for her constant asking of why he was here. He did not know enough of her to validate disclosing that information.

However, as he sat down, bogged into an impromptu dinner, he wondered if the materialistic Karin was in fact the definition of normal in the household.

The first person that greeted Karin upon his entry into the home was a rather middle-aged, goateed man of burly stature, who he identified immediately from previous reviews as Isshin Kurosaki. He had labeled him the oddball doctor.

Indeed, he had been right to make such an assumption. The moment he stepped through the door, allowed in by hostess Karin, the burly man let out an ear-splitting "KARRRRINNN-CHAN!!" and bounded through a door. The next moment, he embraced him with the strength of a sumo wrestler, threatened to have his weak gigai crushed by the man's arms before his petite daughter kicked the man in the head, relinquishing the hold.

"Oh wait. You're not Karin-Chan. There's my," Isshin, at that time, drew in a heavy breath for a repeat performance, but apparently Karin was used to this. Anticipating his attack, she kicked him in the mouth before he could utter her name.

"Daddy! You're embarrassing me!"

Isshin only blubbered, running with ridiculous resiliency to a ceiling-to-floor portrait of a woman with long red hair. Waterfalls of tears cascaded thus from his eyelids as he cried out "Oh my dear Masaki! Why must our daughter be so cruel!? Is she doomed to be like Ichigo?!"

All the while Toshiro felt his eyebrow hang in puzzlement.

As quickly as his tears started, they shut off, and he turned back to him, now aware of his presence. "Ah ha! So this explains why my Karin-Chan is so protective!"

"…what?"

Isshin resumed as if he did not hear him. "A suitor comes to steal away my precious daughter! Oh dear Masaki! I don't want to lose my daughters yet!! Why must a boyfriend come to steal her away?!"

"Daddy! He's not my boyfriend!"

"Yeah, I'm not."

Isshin apparently did not hear, drowning himself out in his self-produced deluge of tears.

It was obvious to the 10th captain that Karin was embarrassed, even if her face wasn't flushed pink. "This is my dad, as you could guess."

"Hey. I can."

Karin at that point sniffed the air, sensing aromas so delectable it could be branded a slice of decadence. "Have you eaten yet?"

"No."

"What!" Isshin, akin to a borderline maniac, bounced back up, his eyes dry as a bone, assuming an almost super-hero-esque pose. "The holder of my Karin-chan's heart (Karin took the moment to shout again "He's not my boyfriend!") reduced to skin and bones? What kind of parents raise you?"

Hitsugaya would come to regret his honesty. "I don't have parents, sir."

"No parents?! Then where do you live?!"

"I move around." Again, in retrospect, Hitsugaya would've preferred to lie.

"This cannot be!" Isshin remarked with grandiose fervor. "As your future-father in law, I cannot allow you to become a delinquent like my son-

"I can hear you clearly, Dad."

"-If you bring Karin happiness, then I must allow that happiness to thrive!"

"Daddy, I just met him today!"

"So then-" Isshin stopped as he processed the last bit, before smiling wryly at Toshiro's person. "My, you work fast. Reminds me of me when I was dating Masaki! What's your name anyway?"

Toshiro let out an exasperated breath, and it was Karin, whose face by now resembled a delicious red apple, who supplied the answer. "This is Toshiro Hitsugaya, daddy. I met him while we were playing football."

Isshin sucked up more of his over-the-top attitude. "Well then, as your future father-in-law, I invite you to eat with us. Yuzu-Chan! We have another mouth to feed!"

At this point Isshin disappeared into presumably the kitchen, leaving Toshiro and Karin by themselves, each with a defining look. Toshiro bore a countenance of utter bewilderment, while Karin held a cross between suppressed annoyance and sheer embarrassment.

Toshiro found his tongue. "Is your father always like that?"

"Every single day, Toshiro."

"Its Hitsugaya."

Toshiro was now strongly cursing his luck and his lack of powers. But again, his pride kept him from calling Abarai and demanding to get the hell back to Soul Society. Even his embarrassment towards the Kurosaki family, who he probably wasn't going to see again, was nothing compared to the embarrassment he have to endure from the Gotei 13. Without a better idea, he found the dining room and took his seat. Karin, the only other person there, sat to his left.

"Are you ready to talk yet?"

"About what?"

"Duh! What have I asking you seen I knocked you out?!"

"I don't know. All you've been saying is nonsense."

Karin growled under her breath, and took a scowl that reminded Hitsugaya of Soi Fon in a bad mood.

Eventually, The whole family gathered, and Toshiro found himself under a bombardment of scrutiny and interrogation. This did not bother him as much. Rather, it gave him a chance to study his hosts while concealing his person. He wasn't really much for conversation…observation was more his thing.

He gave each person a view (Not Isshin: He was scared to death to incur any more of his intrigue) and made a mental not of each of their habits. There were only two more additional members, and in terms of spiritual pressure, they were very much as he could've expected. Yuzu had a miniscule spiritual pressure, while the surly, orange-haired Ichigo's spiritual pressure was like a shaken soda bottle with the cap fused on. It was easy for him to see, sitting by the table, though he kept his thoughts to himself as he ate his food.

Yuzu seemed nice enough, almost a bit motherly. She reminded him a bit of Momo in a way, always concerned, and very much a matriarch. The woman Isshin Kurosaki kept crying to-Masaki-did not seem to be here, but he kept his mouth firmly shut, for fear of being impolite. It surprised Hitsugaya that she was Karin's fraternal twin, for they weren't anything alike to one another. Animus and Anima, one a prototypical female while the other a diehard rebel…the twins were as much night and day in appearance as they were in personality.

Ichigo seemed guarded. Like Karin, the son of the Kurosaki household could see ghosts, and his eyes rarely left the young captain idle. To Toshiro, his behavior was unusual, as if he was deliberately seeking a means to start trouble. Toshiro traced his gaze while trying to be invested in his food, catching how his eyes would focus on him, then his hand, then his sister next to the white-haired captain, then to her hand, then back to Hitsugaya, and then again the cycle resumed.

_Don't tell me he actually believes what his father's shooting at the mouth?_

He was about to ask Ichigo if he had seen a raven-haired young woman, before he was cut off, by Yuzu's quiet politeness.

"Hitsugaya-kun? I don't remember every seeing you at school. Are you enrolled?"

"No." Again, the accursed sincerity.

"What!!" The Kurosaki patriarch whom Hitsugaya had been trying to avoid in engagement, piped up. "Another delinquent! Masaki! What would you say f to me! To not only raise a second felon, but have him capture and corrupt our innocent dau-"

Karin remained surprisingly silent, but her foot did not, clanging into the side of her father's head ("Oh no! She's picking up his bad habits already!").

"He's not a delinquent, daddy." Karin retorted. "He's just a little…off."

"But Karin," Yuzu remarked, a gentle entrance to yet another violent occurrence. "Hitsugaya-kun is probably our age…wouldn't he fit in at our school?"

"Hey, you're right. He _does _look like an elementary student."

Toshiro was grateful his mouth was preoccupied with his glass: Otherwise, he would've been tempted to remark that he was old enough to be Isshin's grandfather. Instead, he opted to more firmly compose his words.

"I'm educated, sir, so sending me to…_school_ would be pointless. I won't impose on your ho-"

"Now wait a second! You're just trying to squirm out of my questions, again! I told you, If I have to-"

"What're you asking, Karin?" Ichigo finally broke his silence.

"Uh…You know…" Karin, having lost her fire at being found out, stuttered out, knowing Ichigo may or may not understand (He was always bad with names and faces) and that neither her daddy or her sister knew that Toshiro had already been here, knocked unconscious. She made up an alibi. "You know…he's already pretty smart…I wanted to see if he could play football with me…"

_Play it? You damn knocked me out with that ball!!_

The reaction of each family member was…interesting, Toshiro noted. Yuzu looked excited. Ichigo, on the other hand scowled. Isshin, oblivious to either, raised his arm in concordance of a genius, as if a light bulb just flashed in his head.

"Then it settled!" Isshin bellowed. "Hitsugaya lives under the Kurosaki roof as son-in-law!"

"What!? Dad! We don't need a midget-"

"Don't call me a midget, carrot-top!"

"Whatever hobbit." Ichigo retorted, recalling a long novel he once read. "Dad! Yuzu has to feed enough mouths as it is."

"Are you saying, my delinquent son, that you'd kick out someone in there time of need?" Isshin grandiosely challenged, an accusing finger placed at his son's brow. Ichigo's response, while currently in the process of feeding his face, was a big boot to his father's chin.

"Is your family always like this?" Toshiro asked Karin (Now the only person with adequate sanity) in exhaustion without a defined root

"Yeah. So what?"

"…I'd rather not know what is classified as crazy here."

Karin bit back her laughter as Toshiro continued to observe her family, downing his drink with the flair of a veteran alcoholic. Then, amidst the brawl rolling under the table, with her brother and her father tussling and her sister acting as a referee, the nagging questions always came back to her. At last, one such question finally struck at her, to which she proposed in earnest:

"Daddy? Why is _he_ a son-in-law?"

Toshiro, more aware of the complications of that question than the younger minded Karin, promptly spat out his drink with comedic flair. He had a feeling this was not going to turn out so well.

His prediction came right with Isshin's bellow. "Why, isn't he your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend! I told you, I just him today!"

Toshiro did not for a moment miss the smoldering glare of her orange-haired brother. He looked to Karin, a picture of contorted indignation; Isshin, smirking again slyly as he did inside; and Yuzu, who had a look of genuine happiness. Debating whether or not opening his mouth would come to any good, he only kept it shut.

"He's not denying it." Ichigo accused. It was fairly obvious that e was holding his emotion in.

"Your sister's right. I am not her boyfriend." Toshiro clarified.

Isshin only resumed a knowing look, winked at the pair of them, and resumed with his own dinner, at the behest of Yuzu's calming sentences.

Toshiro looked to Karin, who interesting looked at him at the same time. Their eyes met for a moment, and then withdrew to opposite ends in embarrassment.

Mentally, Toshiro could only bury himself in his food and wonder this:

_What have I gotten myself into…?_

He cast another sidelong glance at Karin, hoping she didn't notice. Vaguely, he noted how…opulent her raven-hair appeared. Like a river of shadowstuff…

He shook the thought from his head, and went about his surrogate supper.

"So Daddy?" Yuzu asked, "What happened to that man from th-this morning? The one in the n-n-nice suit?"

Isshin's face hardened, a reverse to the exterior of comedic insanity he bore. He stroked his goatee as if in contemplation, searching for the right way to explain it, and then settled with a particular expression.

"He's with the angels now."

Toshiro raised his eyebrows. Yuzu, apparently a saintly girl in the department of compassion, intepretted the statement clearly for an 11-year old, and began the processions of breaking down. Ichigo took his cue and excused her from the dinner table.

"Did you know anything about that, Hitsugaya?" Isshin asked.

The white-crowned captain did the only thing he could think of: Not tell the truth.

"No. I was unaware."

He caught Karin glancing at him, but he chose not to make his acknowledgement known.

Hyourinmaru still wasn't answering his calls.

--

_**July 31**__**st**__**, Late Night**_

Curiosity was becoming a burden to Karin Kurosaki, though he hid it well with her cache of other emotions. Hitsugaya always remained the proper, polite gentleman he appeared to be, despite a sardonic jab here or there or a look of confusion at the antics of her family. On more than one occasion Ichigo and Toshiro held a scowling contest it seemed, though over what she could not tell. He was an enigma to her…an enigma that ensnared her attention to the point that it was inviting not only her father's embarrassing rants, but her sisters as well.

For goodness sake, she only knew this guy for just today!

Be as that may, Karin never got her chance to speak with him about her interrogation or to give him back his package. Toshiro wandered around the house aimlessly, searching for something, but when asked exactly what he was looking for, he huffed a response, as if not deigning an answer. Karin noticed that he would often stop at Ichigo's closed doorway, and stare at it as if trying to look beyond the door. He would not stay for long, however. His sharp, teal eyes would catch her watching him, and then he would walk away from the scene, his hands inside his pockets and a scowl upon his face.

Of course, his sleeping quarters, as he was an impromptu guest that not even Karin had anticipated, were brought into question, with her father suggesting playfully that he sleep with Ichigo and said son vehemently arguing against it. Toshiro himself seemed apathetic, more concerned with his cell-phone (how an kid with no parents could have a cell phone boggled Karin's mind, but she didn't dwell on it) than in his sleeping habitat. Eventually, it was decided that he would sleep on the couch tentatively, until they could come up with a more permanent suggestion. The snow-topped boy was fine with that.

What he was not fine with was the prospect of school.

Karin and Yuzu both had to stifle their laughter as Toshiro argued against having to be placed inside an elementary school, even though he looked about the right age (he did not state what his age actually was, though if she had to bet on it, he was her age.) However, her daddy was adamant about the needs of education "for his future son-in-law", and thus in steadfast refusal of 'raising another delinquent', he planned to get Toshiro enrolled into Karakura South Elementary starting August 3rd.

The look of exasperation on his face was priceless.

"Don't worry Toshiro! It can be boring at times but-"

"…Its pointless. And its Hitsugaya." Toshiro rebuked.

As he had literally no other possessions than what he currently had on him, Toshiro had to borrow for his nightclothes…particularly, a set of pajamas that Ichigo had worn when he had been that age, with orange carrots on the front and back.

He did look cute in those pajamas, even with his face a burgundy red, though whether it was from embarrassment or from anger she had no way of knowing.

However, with Karin's failure of cornering Toshiro in private long enough to speak with him about several things (why was he outside the house, who was that man in the suit, was that his package in plastic wrap, etc..?) her own personal curiosity got the better of her. When night finally came, Karin faked sleep for a time, waiting until Yuzu had succumbed to her own dream world. Then, with swift and silent steps, she recovered the plastic-wrap package that she had found, and prepared to unwrap it…

Her hands were halted by audible footsteps, and she fumbled to retain her grip.

Karin's first suspicion was her daddy, who perhaps knew she was awake (how she did not know) and was coming to cajole her back to bed. After a few minutes however, Karin noticed how the steps were descending from the stairs, each taken with a poignancy that emphasized the need for stealth. Though exceedingly odd, Karin allowed the benefit of the doubt to take hold, and she turned her anxious, midnight eyes back to the parcel in her lap.

Then, she heard the door open, just slightly…than then just as quietly…shut.

Karin found _that _allure irresistible. Grumbling how she should be sleeping instead of dealing with this guy, even though it was a Friday, she pulled herself up all the same, and tried to exercise the same brand of caution that whomever was wandering about did as well. Placing the parcel under her pillow, she extricated herself from her bed, and took to the hallway.

She peered down the stairwell, and caught sight of the door being ajar. Ensnaring her curiosity further, with an ever-tightening lasso, she felt the sense of deja-vu, as she crept down the stairwell, wary of their impromptu houseguest undoubtedly resting on the couch over to her right.

Her eyes cast a glance to make sure he wasn't awake, watching her, and then she saw that the couch, piled high with an assortment of blankets and pillows from her overly generous daddy, was vacated.

Before she could ask herself exactly where Toshiro could've gone, she heard his voice from the outside.

"Sit upon top the Frosted Heavens….Hyourinmaru…"

_What in the world are you up to, Toshiro?_

Karin crept up to the door to see Toshiro, in his pajamas glory and all, standing in the sidewalk, a warm contrast to the monsoon that came last night. He seemed focused in thought, with his head bent down, muttering his words as if they were a prayer. She could see agitation reflect in the moonlight, and again he breathed out and chanted again.

"Sit upon of the Frosted Heavens…Hyourinmaru…"

Again, if he was expecting something, she did not receive it. Rather than attain anything, the air of stagnation held high. Toshiro spat out in deepened annoyance, and this time roared his call.

"Sit upon the Frosted Heavens, Hyourinmaru!"

Again, only the silent moon and the sedated breeze answered his call. Toshiro promptly cursed his luck.

"Damn it!"

Karin stared from her spot in puzzlement, but kept herself from being noticed.

"You know, for a captain that looks like a 10-year old, you might want to tone it down."

Both Karin and Toshiro looked to the sky, observing a U.F.O falling to the world. One look further, as the object neared, could clarify that the object was no mere flying saucer, but a person. Karin's face scrunched with perplexity, while Toshiro's set itself in recognition, as the person touched down on the waterlogged sidewalk. He was massive in height, though shorter than Ichigo's parakeet friend. He was also skinnier, though his was a body well defined and burdened with the toil of training. He had ritualistic tattoos on his forehead (for what reason Karin couldn't possibly figure out) and hair flowing and burning as the winter fire. A black kimono, much like the one that she had seen Toshiro wear the other day, draped over his muscled body, and a katana of some sort lied sheathed at the side. His face was a rambunctious smile, one that Karin easily could relate to Ichigo…but she kept her comparisons to herself as she watched in silence the nightly rendezvous.

"I'm been looking all over for ya, Captain. Nice pajamas. What happened?"

"Never mind. You're late anyway, Abarai." Toshiro responded to the red-haired man, scowling for no discernable reason and a vein throbbing on his brow. "Did you do as I asked?"

"Yeah. But I gotta admit, I caught up. Lotta souls to reap in those hospitals, and so crude too." The man boomed jovially. Karin noticed the obvious contrasts between the two, Toshiro being more reserved and the man called Abarai being quite loud. "4th Company makes them look like the Stone Age."

"But did you find the man?"

"Pale-faced guy?"

"Check."

"Wearing nice clothes and a big, black hat?"

"Yes."

"Stabbed in the heart and bled to death?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Black-hair too?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! You found him?"

"Nope. Didn't see anyone like that where they kept their dead or mortally injured." Abarai conceded. Toshiro blanched and then exploded.

"Then why didn't YOU SAY THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!"

"Uh…" Apparently at a loss for an answer, Abarai only trailed off, scratching his locks before trying a different tact. "Hey, uh…you know that there's a-"

"I know she's over there and I don't care."

"But she's peeping as if she-"

"She _can_ see you, Abarai." Toshiro responded with finality. Agitation dripped off his face, and he paced without reason. Abarai looked as concerned as he could: Despite the obvious fierce appearance, his eyes let off a kindly hue.

'Look, Captain Hitsugaya…what exactly happened? You're not letting off any spiritual pressure, and I'm standing next to you."

"I lost my powers. I'm no better a soul reaper than half the people on this block. I can still see you and interact with you, but Hyourinmaru won't answer my calls…and I'm stuck in this gigai, to boot."

"Can't get any worse."

"I have to go to _elementary school_. It already has gotten worse."

Silence set in, and for a moment Karin's breath was the only tempo separating the noise of the two on her sidewalk from herself. Abarai scratched his crimson locks as he debated what next to say. Toshiro, on the other hand, continued to simmer in his anger.

"Is Rukia here?" Abarai finally asked, pointing to the Kurosaki household. Toshiro nodded.

"Yeah. She probably already knows I'm here. You too, if you stay too long. You should return to Soul Society anyway. The mission is a bust."

"Hey, hey, hey! You can't handle the hollows without your powers, let alone open a gate and get Rukia back to Soul Society! Besides, what if a hollow arrives?"

"Then I'll deal with it."

Abarai looked behind him, staring at the street as he observed the nothingness of the night. "How did you lose your powers again? It took a call from you just to get me over here. I'm not kidding, Captain. Your spiritual pressure is zilch right now. The bottom-feeders could eat you up, if they tried hard enough."

"Concerned for me, Abarai?"

"Nah. But Hinamori would have my head if I let you get killed."

"Hmm. I lost my powers because I had to deal with a rather…interesting prowler. He fits the description I just gave you. The man asked me to use my _bankai_ and I killed him. At the same time, he forced my powers to collapse. Got it? That's all I can figure." Toshiro began pacing again, annoyance now visibly etched on him. The feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, was not one he either liked or was used to. He was a captain of the Gotei 13! How could this have occurred?

_"Let me bring you to the rat's level. Let me bring you to the surface."_

"So what now? I can get Rukia and take the three of us back to-"

"No." Toshiro responded, stopping his pacing to brood. He walked to the steps leading to the house, unaware seemingly of Karin peeking out of the door, and plopping himself on the step. "I'll stay here, and monitor things. I still need to learn more about the Kurosaki's, and if Rukia is with the person I suspect she's with, he won't hand her over without a fight, weaker than you or not."

"You just want to avoid embarrassment from Matsumoto, don't you?"

"….ugh…that too…"

He appeared downtrodden, incensed, and frustrated all at once. But the white-crowned captain did not lose his icy resolve. "You head on back to Soul Society. Let them know I'm fine. Especially Hinamori and Matsumoto. I'll try to regain my powers some other way."

"And what if a hollow comes back?"

"There will be someone other than me, Abarai. We have unseated officers for this."

Abarai nodded, his face solemn as he turned around to the night. As he reached the road, he tilted his eyes to the diminutive captain one final time. "Captain Kuchiki and Yamamoto are gonna ask questions, ya know."

"Tell them the truth, then." Toshiro answered in an exasperated breath.

"Okay. Keep an eye on Rukia for me. I'll see you soon."

And without another word, his saber now nestled on his broad shoulders, The tattoo-faced Abarai leapt into the air akin to a superhero, disappearing into the moonlight.

Karin, seeing that the conversation was done, and mounted with more questions, turned to head back into her room, but just as he turned her back, Toshiro opened the door, his cold, teal eyes boring into the back of her raven-head.

"If you agree to stop spying on me, we can talk." Toshiro responded with the finality of an armed officer.

Karin could only turn around and assume her own tough-girl attitude, for there was irony to be harvested in this situation.

"Well its about time!"

Toshiro could only roll his eyes, oblivious to the inanity of them standing in the dormant household, donning cartoon-like pajamas…and having this conversation at all. How unusual humans were.

A headache began to form on top of his brow. This would be quite troublesome, he reasoned inwardly.

--

End Chapter.


	4. Chapter 4: Mad Hatter

Another installment which I hope you enjoy…forgive me if I am late with it. Again, reviews are appreciated in their forms.

Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH!, though there are other characters that I do hold ownership of. The Seven-Sealed Devil is one of them.

**Chapter 4: Mad Hatter**

_**August 2**__**nd**__**, Midday…**_

It became fairly obvious to Karin that Toshiro wasn't the talkative type, even more so than Ichigo. She had originally believed that this was his way of hiding things: Silence was golden, as she heard in school, (or more appropriately, nobody likes a stool-pigeon) and a handy device at concealing the truth. However, upon her careful observation, while indeed he was hiding various truths from her and her family (that was obvious because of her own experiences), he was equally just as reserved naturally. A sharp, glacial contrast to either familial male inside her home, with her daddy bouncing off the walls with a star's energy and her brother boiling like a furnace for some reason Karin could only guess at.

Yesterday, Saturday, Karin was able to observe his mannerisms: By no means did he not realize it. Fortunately for him, he had made it clear to her that he would answer everything that she wanted to know, given the episode two nights ago. However, in turn Toshiro requested that she not bother him if he seemed to be doing something out of the ordinary. Karin had only shrugged, for she herself was far from ordinary-her entire world bordered on weirdness, and Toshiro Hitsugaya had only just burst in and squatted, very much like them.

She of course wanted to play on Saturday with her friends, but she had her part-time responsibilities in the clinic. Her daddy had been quite serious about enrolling Toshiro, despite his rather sharp arguments and outright unwillingness to go. So, he had driven off at the crack of dawn, waking everyone up with his morning rituals (and by ritual, she meant 'rumble') over his son.

Karin could not suppress her own humored smile as Toshiro woke that morning from his interim place on the couch, a grouchy expression sculpted on his face.

"What kind of family do you have, Kurosaki?" Toshiro asked, a hint of incredulousness apparent in his tone.

"The kind you'd never expect," came her smart reply. She could note the throbbing vein on his forehead, but chose to ignore it. "And its Karin!"

"I'm trying to be respectful."

"There's _four _people you could call that! It'll get confusing."

Toshiro muttered under his breath something that sounded like 'insane woman', but she couldn't be sure.

With her daddy venturing off to enroll Toshiro into their elementary, the Kurosaki family fell into the roll of nursemaids, opening the clinic after the culmination of their breakfast. It was not long before the clinic burst into fervor with patience, many of which complained of a singular problem, but Karin herself did not pay much heed to the complaints of the customers. It did not strike her intrigue that all of the patients rolling in were mostly suffering from cut wounds, as if made by a large blade that slid across them. The cause was not some much of interest as the physical injury itself, and there was plenty of gauze distributed in these unusual cases. Each person, ranging entirely as rugged, heavily built men, also complained as to how the description of the man appeared the same in each pair of eyes: A skinny, sharp-dressed man who never showed his entire face, wearing some sort of hat, and producing his blades as if he was plucking them from his body.

Ichigo, a rugged adolescent but a good-all-around guy, took it upon himself to record their testimonies, and report it to the police.

Toshiro, amidst all of this, took the opportunity to vanish out the door. Whether or not it was to meet in some conference with the 'Abarai' guy was beyond her. Karin's focus was brought back to the issue at hand by her sister's voice, clipping her inquiry of their new houseguest in fulfillment of their medical duties and paperwork.

After the initial wave of pain-ridden men, the return of her daddy, and writing of her paperwork, Karin was finally allowed to depart, leaving Ichigo and her daddy to the responsibilities of the Kurosaki clinic. Donning her cap and grabbing her soccer ball, she ventured out to seize what remained of the day, and perhaps find Toshiro.

It did not help her mood however, that her daddy said, "Fly little lovebird, fly! Let your heart take flight, my-"

Isshin Kurosaki was unable to finish due to a soccer ball being lodged briefly in his throat.

It quickly occurred to her, as she wandered the streets, that she hadn't a clue where to go. Though she found her mind immediately gravitating to the soccer ball in her hand, she found it irresistible in the end. Finding the vacant lot which she and her friends played often, she immediately took to kicking the ball with ever-increasing fervor, hoping with each renewed shot that the net may break, and simultaneously condemning herself for such a counterproductive and destructive thought. Of course, that by no means halts her club-hard foot smashing the ball like a battering ram into the net, oh no. For once, she just wanted to take her scenery in, to enjoy an adrenaline-bred moment, even if she did not have any rivals. The wind could be her rival, the sun could be her rival. Heck, the darn net could be her rival! But she kept at it like a lumberjack, repeating the act of kicking, scoring, retrieving, and kicking again.

Her peace would still be jeopardized, even without that sinking feeling…for she counted her luck, and not concern of absence, as to why there had been no monsters that only she could see…appearing to attack her, as did that one in this same lot…

No. There would be no hopelessness. There could not be reliance. For now, her brother's suspicious activity was in stasis. For that much, and the peace she currently had…secretly, she was grateful.

She would not be able to hold to that stasis for long, when she returned home. The look of intense frustration was apparent on the white-haired Toshiro's face, as she found him again standing outside Ichigo's room, a hand on the door knob.

Karin had to shoo him away. Houseguest or no, it would set a bad precedent if she allowed Toshiro to enter her sibling's room and not permit any but Yuzu to enter hers.

She did not miss him mutter to himself in passing "She's in there."

--

Sunday had not started off pleasantly. Karin should've known this was going to happen, with Daddy talking about a 'son-in-law' and Ichi-nii giving Toshiro an unusually deep scowl…but even she could tolerate Ichigo's protectiveness for so long. Yes, it could be darn handy in the right situation. Yes, it was comforting to know that someone cared about you that intensely. But if this was what she had to deal with every time she wanted to go on a date (mind you, she was still to young for that but, the future beckons, anyway), she would be sorely tempted to rip out his hair.

For her sake, Karin was glad she was wearing her cap. Otherwise, the mixed blush of embarrassment and indignation would be obvious.

Perhaps even worse off was Toshiro, who was listening but kept his head lowered, his eyes clamped shut in irritation. It appeared as if he was almost familiar with this type of agitation, though where an elementary student like him could've possibly dealt with _this _particular issue escaped her.

"Kurosaki-san," Toshiro breathed out slowly. "I say this with all due respect, but its been three days and I'm already sick of your frown. What's your deal with me?"

Ichigo only exchanged glances with a frosty Hitsugaya and an embarrassed Karin, before setting his foot down the best he could.

"Where're you going?"

"I don't know." Toshiro responded. "I was going to let her decide."

"And what're you gonna be _doing_?"

Now was Toshiro's turn to frown. "That's…not your business."

"The heck it is! That's my sister yer escorting!!"

Karin could feel her blush magnify tenfold, though whether it was from increasing anger or something else eluded her. Toshiro, on the other hand, levitated his hair up as if he was a Super-Saiyan from that corny _Dragon Ball Z _show dad liked to watch.

"And I'm sure there are things of _yours _that involve others, yet you want to refrain from unleashing. Am I right?" Toshiro challenged, a smaller bull but clearly not one to be bossed around.

Neither though was Ichigo, and he presumed on. "Yeah, well…maybe _I'm _a bit more older 'n wiser in the way of things, so I can hold my secrets."

"Ichi-ni! Don't you dare say I need a parent to go everywhere!" Karin burst out, aware of the slide at Toshiro but also aware that it marked her as well.

Toshiro himself paid little heed to her banter for the moment, cautiously picking at his conversation. "If you have to know, Kurosaki, what exactly we are doing, we're going to chat."

"About what? Birds and bees?"

Karin invented a new shade of red on her face; Toshiro seemed utterly oblivious to the suggestion made, with a physical demonstration in his raised eyebrow.

"Birds and bees? What, you think I collect avian samples?"

Ichigo bit back a laugh. "You really are an orphan if you don't know that." Ichigo reared back his head, aware that he was in conflicting interests which his sister was also privy too. On one hand, he could forbade the whole thing, but that would mean pissing off Karin, which as a loving big brother, he simply didn't have the stomach to do: He wanted to protect her, not ruin her emotionally. On the other hand, he did not trust Hitsugaya by much, even with his father's happy endorsement. The fact he always seemed to be in Karin's shadow didn't make his mind work right…

"Sheesh," Ichigo conceded, seeing that the smaller boy still held his irritated gaze with his 'step-sibling'. "All right, all right. Go already. But if anything happens to my sister-"

"I understand the ultimatum." Toshiro remarked, still obviously annoyed with the advancing and tactless accusations. His statement just left Ichigo stupefied as to how a kid like him would even know the word 'ultimatum'. "I will not…ugh…never mind…"

Toshiro, perhaps self-conscious of what he was about to say, whatever that was to begin with, shut his mouth into incoherent mutterings, and turned a healthy shade of pink. Though curious, Karin did not press it. For now.

"Just get back before dinner, or I'll come'n drag ya myself." Ichigo warned, the self-righteous flames of his enslaving instincts bristling over his shoulders like an aura. It was under a great, obvious deal of strain that he was even permitting this.

Karin decided to twist the proverbial knife here, taking one of Toshiro's hands and spouting off, "Well, you heard Ichi-Nii, Shiro-chan! We gotta get while the getting's good!"

Thanks to her prodigious football skills, Karin, with the lithe Toshiro in tow, hauled themselves out of the house before her brother, with his goldfish attention span, caught wind and was led falsely to suspicions.

"Hey! HEY! No Funny business!" Ichigo called out, his voice carrying over like a Clint Eastwood stare across the neighborhood.

After acquire some distance between them and their surrogate/actual home, Toshiro posed his own question with half-hearted irises.

"So, what now?"

"Well…" Karin responded, walking all chipper as she looked around. "I'm not really sure. I was waiting to see what Ichi-nii was going to do so I really don't have a clue what to next."

"Karin."

"Any Ideas?"

"Karin." Toshiro repeated for no discernable reason.

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

"Karin. Look at me."

The raven-haired girl turned. Toshiro stared intensely at her with revitalized aqua-green eyes, before looking down. Karin followed his gaze.

Their hands were still intermingled as one, like vines mixed with rigor mortis.

"Uh…Is this a custom, for the girl to take the boy literally by the hand everywhere they go? Or is it a family habit, like with your father?" Toshiro asked, bemused and completely unaware of the symbolism of the gesture. "I might need my hand."

Karin, as both a preteen girl and a little more culturally inclined that Toshiro apparently was, blushed again. She let go, allowing her now-unoccupied hand to roam into her pants pocket. Toshiro's confusion did not wash off so easily.

It was true that Karin had no earthly idea exactly where she was going, and thus leading Toshiro, as they walked side by side on the rustic sidewalk. The fringes of the city seemed to suit them both well, as Karin had no interest in the city (for fear of having her father spot her) and Toshiro's shy personality would just clash with the hustle-and-bustle of the main center of Karakura. She made to stop at the Urahara Shoten, but for one reason of another the white-haired boy solidly refused. When asked why, he merely answered with the words "troublesome Kisuke".

As they left the premise, they could not help but feel a cabalistic set of eyes focus on the back of their heads. Karin, having been used to these feelings for years, ignored it, and went about her way.

Eventually, they finally found a small business dispensary in the form of a ramen cart. Again making comparisons to the cartoons which Yuzu was so fond of, she noted off-handedly a bench, and prodded herself there.

"You go and sit over there. I'll get something for us."

Toshiro nodded his obeisance, and moved on.

When Karin came back to their spot under the tree, laden with a pair of ramen bowls and a set of canned drinks but lightened from her allowance, she found Toshiro acting his own enigmatic way, muttering a nonsense word that she had heard him speak before. Taking refuge in the shade from the young summer sun, Karin finally pressed on that.

"What the heck is a Hyourinmaru, anyway?"

The white-haired boy was not prepared for her inquiry, and so he lost his composure and his mediations in a single word: "Huh?"

"I said," Karin replied a bit tartly, moving the noodle bowl under his nose across of him. "What's a Hyourinmaru?"

"Hmm. I guess you are still prying in my business." Toshiro ceded. It was a statement, a stubborn resistance, but an empty one, used more for show than anything else.

"Hello? You're wearing my brother's kiddie clothes. The least you can do is give me a straight answer. I don't want to find out I brought home a crazy person."

A sliver of a humored smile graced Toshiro's lips, as he set down the ramen bowl to think. "You'd think I'm crazy to begin with if you hadn't seen me three nights ago."

"What?" Karin responded, her mouth garbled by an ooze of noodles. Toshiro frowned on the bad etiquette, but resumed.

"You can see ghosts, can't you?" It was rhetorical, that much was clear, but Karin nodded her answer anyway. "Only about 1 in every, say, 500 humans can see spirits. Its rare that two people-we call them mediums or psychics-live under the same house and hold this power. Some people can only see the outlines, the auras. Know something's there but can't quite see it. Others, like you, can not only see these spirits but also interact with them, as you did with me that morning."

"So…does that mean you're dead?"

"Yes and no. I am dead, in the since that once I was like you, but I can also die as I am." Toshiro indulged in one of the canned drinks, his face wrinkling with the acidic taste. "If I die, then I simply return here as a pure spirit."

"If you're a spirit, then how come everyone can see you?" Karin asked. "Yuzu and Daddy both could…"

"This," Toshiro motioned to his body, his hands running over his borrowed shirt, "is a gigai. It is a false body which we soul reapers use to interact with your world. Otherwise, we remain in our Soul Reaper form."

"You mean, when you was wearing that black kimono and white vest and-"

"My _vest_ is properly named a _haori_."

"Whatever. I'm asking the questions." Karin shut down defiantly. "Why aren't you in that?"

"…." Toshiro fell silent, finding an excuse for cognition in his rather bitter drink. Karin couldn't disagree, but she didn't know what the_ dead _were supposed to drink as it was…

"Something came up. I was sent in on a mission-"

"What mission was that?"

"Didn't you hear two nights ago? When you were eavesdropping?"

"I wasn't dropping any eaves, whatever those are."

Toshiro let out a sigh of common exasperation. "You were listening on my conversation with Renji Abarai. The tall, red-haired guy."

"Oh yeah, that guy. Nice pajamas by the way. I forgot Ichigo still had them, Shiro-chan."

Toshiro's face went to a shade of red, though whether it was from anger or agitation remained indiscernible. "Th-that aside," Toshiro flailed, "You must've heard what we were talking about. And its Hitsugaya."

"I did, but…you kept losing your cool at the slightest remark, so…fill me in."

Toshiro sighed again. "Renji and I were sent here from our base of operations-Soul Society, I'll get to that later-to find one of our own who went missing in the spring. Her name is Rukia Kuchiki. I was sent off as insurance that the job would get done. Otherwise, it would've handed to one of the subordinates."

"Who sent you?"

"Kuchiki's brother, Captain Byakuga. He has a lot of pull in Soul Society, so he can get things done. I owned him anyway for helping me out back when I was in the academy. Helped me get to the 13 companies in the first place. Anyway…He asked me to go after her after she had been sighted, and your house was cited as a place she had been seen. Or rather, she had been seen with your family."

"When?"

"June 17th." Toshiro responded, unaware of the significance of that date. He was also unaware of the significance in Karin's sudden alteration of posture. She slumped down, focusing on her hands as the memory of that day came to her. She remembered a black-haired girl about Ichigo's age coming to the cemetery, but she had merely deduced her to be Ichigo's girlfriend or something…

"Karin." Toshiro remarked. His face was stoic, but his voice carried a hint of concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Go on with your story."

Perhaps still not used to the perceived customs of the area, Toshiro only raised his eyebrow to indicate his puzzlement, but said nothing. Karin did not raise her head, but he resolved himself anyway. "When she was spotted, our commanding body, the Council of 46, gave the order to retrieve her, and Byakuga was designated the spearhead. However…as I said, something came up, and he had to withdraw from the affair. Maybe he would've been bias, but I'm not sure why he did it. He just asked me to take it over, take Renji with me, and get her as soon as we could. I guess he wanted to ensure himself that it would be taken care of. That's why he sent me."

Karin, by now had recovered, and turned her limpid, midnight eyes to catch his teal ones. He gazed back, a persistent look of confusion on his face. Shaking out the cobwebs and seizing upon his attention, she tried another tact.

"So, why are you still here, if you are so great and all?"

"I was being cautious. I knew about your ability to see ghosts…and that baboon's as well. I did not need unwanted attention…but…that's all I got." Toshiro responded, now showing the stings of his pride. "You saw me that night, laid in the rain, unconscious, broken, bleeding. I did not expect that, and the darn aftermath is worse than the loss itself."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm a Soul Reaper, or I was up to three days ago. Because of my little surprise, I lost my powers. I can't call or materialize my zanpakuto-"

"Wait, a zan-what?"

"Zan-pakuto. It is the weapon of a Soul Reaper, and a sentient extension of a Soul Reaper's inner being. Mine is Hyourinmaru." Toshiro hastily clarified. He glanced sidelong at the leaves above him. "Anyway, I lost all of my powers in that fight. I'm no stronger than you." Here he grimaced, as if disgusted with being put on her level. "I can't sense spiritual pressure, I can't do _kido_, or _shun-po, _or even switch out of my gigai. Right now, for a captain…Tch. I've been humiliated and I don't even know the darn name of the nutcase that did it."

Karin only rolled her eyes. "You know, I have no clue about half the stuff you were saying, but I get the picture: You _were _supposed to be reaaally macho, and now you got owned."

Toshiro grimaced as Karin smirked at his predicament. "This isn't a _joke_, Kurosaki. If a hollow came, I wouldn't be able to save your neck. And your brother…something isn't right about him."

"He's my brother, what you'd expect?"

"A clearer head." Toshiro remarked. "That man, that man, what happened to that man?"

Karin frowned, partially from her own lack of understanding, as Toshiro muttered to himself, aloud in thought.

"Hey. Speak up. If you got something to say, say it!"

Toshiro repressed obviously his irritation again, but explained his thoughts. "I was wondering what even happened to that guy I fought during that storm. Abarai couldn't find him, dead or alive, and he's the cause of my loss of powers."

Karin's memory flinched in realization, as the cacophonic images of that early morning monsoon came to her. She remembered Toshiro again, laying inert and helpless in the hypothermic rains. She remembered that reoccurring plastic-wrap parcel that seemed to connect so eerily to Toshiro. And then she remembered the man…or tried to. Her attention had been zoned in mostly on the white-haired boy's drenched form. All she could remember of the other man-for her daddy and her brother had carted him into operation-was the peculiarity of him wearing an expensive tuxedo in such a downpour. He had been bleeding worse than Toshiro, and while she was relatively aware of the existence of death, actually seeing someone like that was a whole 'nother baseball game.

_Wait a sec…Yuzu said something about…_

"Daddy had to take the man away to a hospital. Don't you remember?"

"I was unconscious at the time." Toshiro remarked. Karin frowned at his continued frosty attitude.

"No, no! I mean, Yuzu asked about it at supper the other day. Daddy said something about it…I think he said he was with the angels now."

Toshiro kept his icy front as he digested her words, his finished drink lying stationary between them on the bench. "That's impossible. If he had been killed, Renji would've found his corpse and reaped him. Even if he was eaten by a hollow, his body still would've been found, and Renji never found it."

"Maybe this Renji is just a slacker." Karin said, melding her face to imitate the red-haired soul reaper she had seen last night.

Toshiro only frowned. "Doubt it. Renji may be more for action, but he does a good job. I sent Renji to get some help, anyway. He'll be back. He's always been attached to Rukia, so he _will _be back."

"Otherwise…you're stranded with me."

"…Yeah." Toshiro remarked, ignoring her teasing smirk. "I've already hit rock bottom as it is. Last thing I need is Matsumoto to find out about this: I'll never hear the end of it."

Karin looked at the white-haired boy, and noticed the subtle evolution of his demeanor. Having quickly finished his treat, he became increasingly more brooding as he divulged his tale. It was a paradoxical sight, to see a boy her age acting like he was down-on-his-luck bum. It also did not sit well with her, and coaxed her into action. She only had one other question, and then she'd do what she had to.

"Shiro-Chan."

"Its Hitsugaya."

"Look. You're living in my home, _and _I pulled your butt outta the rain. I'm calling you Shiro-Chan." Karin responded back. "You said you lost your powers. Can't you get them back?"

Toshiro rubbed his brow as he mulled over the question. "This hasn't ever happened before. Never has a Soul Reaper's spiritual pressure been extinguished in the _reverse _manner. The man didn't suck me dry like a leech. He _gave _me power, until I exploded. I failed to see it, and I got emasculated for it."

"Emascu-is that even a word?"

"…Don't ask me what it means."

"Then don't say it in the first place!"

Karin looked at him again, at his youthful, angular face, as he leaned forward in his seat. His clothing, borrowed from Ichigo's youth, was a product of ridiculous cleanliness, but his body language told of a weariness of quite of the flesh and body. Karin as a sports fanatic was not a stranger to being dog-hard tired, but Toshiro seemed exceptionally fatigued, as if the weight of his stress was cramming down on his shoulders.

"Hey. I got an idea." Karin said. Toshiro turned a bored eye towards her. "You're from this Soul Society place right? That means you've never been around Karakura before?"

"I'm a captain of the Gotei 13. My subordinates usually come and handle regular Soul burials. Otherwise, I got my office and my paperwork to do. It was a favor to Byakuga that got me here."

"I know that al-wait. Captain?"

Toshiro let out a sigh, voicing again his mental lethargy. "I am captain of the 10th company of the Gotei 13."

"Oh, so its your pride that's been cut."

Toshiro didn't respond, but looked away. Nonverbally, this only confirmed her answer.

"To answer _another _of your questions, I'm not really that familiar with everything around here." Toshiro receded from his icy barricade. "Besides, your brother doesn't seem keen on letting me stay with you for long."

Karin huffed. "You can't be telling me you're afraid of Ichi-nii!"

"No. But in the state I'm in now, he could rip me apart."

Silence. The sun continued to draw its way lower and lower to the gray horizon, telling Karin they had been there at least for several hours. All the same, Karin did feel…interested in her new houseguest. So…why not?

"How 'bout I show ya around, Shiro-Chan?"

Hitsugaya was too stupefied at first to reprimand her for calling him that. "Wh-wha? Wouldn't your brother-"

"I'll tell him _I _invited you. He can't get angry at you for that, eh?"

"I think," Toshiro rebuked, "That he will pervert it to where _I _and not _you_ will get the blame."

"For the love of-Don't you have any fun, over there in this, this Soul Society? You all sound like a buncha stiffs anyway."

_But then again, you ARE a buncha stiffs to begin with…_Karin thought to herself as she dusted off her baseball cap, Toshiro fixing his teal eyes on her. "Look. You can't do your job. Might as well be, I don't know…laid off? Why not have some fun while waiting for yer powers to come back?"

"Because a Hollow could-"

Karin silenced him with her palm. "Just pipe down and follow me. I wanna have some fun before I have to go to school tomorrow."

She could not suppress her giggle as Toshiro groaned. Apparently, he did not look forward to elementary school anymore than she did.

--

_**August 2**__**nd**__**, Evening…**_

Vaguely Toshiro wondered if Ichigo was going to kill him for this. Vaguely: He could not allow himself to dwell on it for long, and so he only allowed it to meander in his subconscious, floating as a phantasm in his brain. Admittedly, he had lost track of time, but now maybe he could sympathize with Matsumoto for once in her habitual drinking binges, partying with Abarai, Kira, and Madarame. It was _darned _easy to lose track of time.

Karin Kurosaki was easily becoming one of the most persistent females he had the fortune, or misfortune, to know. Most females he had to deal with-outside of the captains of the 2nd and 4th division and his lieutenant Matsumoto herself-quailed at his piercing stare, and folded like an accordion in his wake. But not this one. No, she was as oblivious and tenacious as a dog, and Hitsugaya found himself both admiring and becoming jaded at the demonstration. Perhaps he was spoiled, like Aizen and Byakuga, from being a captain so long, that one tended to generalize. Captains almost expected spontaneous obedience to their every command, unless it comes from another captain. Each merely went about it their own way. Unohana was placid and gentle in her prodding to order. Zaraki told his subordinates either to obey or die. Byakuga stated all his missions with a pervasive air of nobility and superiority, practically challenging someone to defy him so he could deftly whip them down. Aizen warmly but firmly issues his directives to everyone, holding a humility that was almost an envious example for the other Gotei 13. He himself…well, he was both too new and too often concealed behind towers of paperwork to be able to form tutorial personality. However, Matsumoto had accused him of being mean (whether this was the liquor talking or not, Hitsugaya didn't hazard a guess), and that alone did not sit in his personal schema. He was firm, not mean, and that was because he had to be.

Karin Kurosaki was obviously different, as could be expected from her family tree, but she was alien to what Toshiro was used to. Obnoxious in a way Matsumoto could relate to, but nowhere near what he would expect of a girl: Assertive and practically immune to fear…or perhaps just able to hide it _really _well. She knew nothing of his past as a captain until today, and still remained in the dark concerning his chronological age. Perhaps the shock would be too unbelievable for her; even so, she treated him as (he assumed) she would treat any kid appearing his age, and even if she was completely contrary to gender expectations, she was a kid, and kids needed their play.

Again, perhaps he could relate this habit to Matsumoto. It was a vague idiom to stash away, for he still knew how embarrassing it would be for him to appear before Yamamoto and the rest without his powers…

The area of Karakura did elude his primary concerns, and so he failed to take into account its geographical details. Having been as focused on the mission as he was, the need to understand the layout never pried into his mind (he originally assumed he would even need a gigai, and so interacting with the physical world was unimportant). Now, however, with the bothersome pettiness of attending a house of education and living in the dense, physical world compounding on top his feet…he begrudgingly admitted to being a little unprepared.

Not that he was incapable of adaptation, but the modes of play were…mind-boggling to him.

Perhaps he was really an adult trapped in a child's body.

A carnival, celebrating the summer in its _laissez-faire _mentality, had seemingly grown overnight, centering itself along the bridge and erecting gaudily-colored booths block by block. Toshiro had failed to notice on account that 1)they commenced their carousing on the first of August, under the principle that August was the month of plenty, and 2) the booths only appeared in the evening and lasted through late night. He was surprised that Karin herself did not know anything of this carnival, for reasoning that _she _would be more in tune with the cultural progression of her society.

Apparently, as Toshiro heard, the carnival was a business venture, stewed both in publicity and intrigue and all around fun. Taking after the viewing success of a spiritualist named "Don Kanonji", the proprietors of this carnival decided to set up camp, making hasty preparations over the beginning months of the summer. This he heard from the chattering mouths of wanderers, and not the employees themselves. He had no tolerance to speak to these ridiculously dressed men and women, cloaked not in the typical wear of Easterners but profligately adorned in weaving tassels and chaotic, clashing bright hues on-was it called jester or harlequin?-their clothes. Like the hollows that he had slain in the past, these dandy workers also covered their faces in fixed masks, ranging from any ascetic figure from androgynous faces contorted in grandiose grins, soppy sadness, or frugal, comedic frowns. Even more so among these creepy jesters were the animal masks-jaguars, baboons, elephants, and more populated the proletariats congregating.

Whether their faces matched their masks, Toshiro did not ask. He could not move _to _ask. Karin had long about fixed an iron maiden on his hand, and whether for assurance, comfort, or companionship, the raven-haired tomboy would not relinquish her grip. Several times already he had tried to pull away, but he had underestimated the weakness of his gigai. A replacement would be needed soon.

"Does this happen often?" The 10th company captain asked, his curiosity not so much piqued as his need to know the customs.

"Nah. I've never seen these guys before. Gotta be foreigners." Karin responded. Despite the peculiarities that an adult could see, the tomboy gripping his hand was enthralled by the sights. She was not the only one, as the sun lazily settled on the horizon above them. More commoners in droves, ranging from all social classes and age demographics, marched to see this mysterious and lavish fair, and their clowns, with their surreal veneers, only happily and slavishly came to meet and flatter them.

_Hmm. Con Artists._ Hitsugaya had little toleration for liars. Especially those so obvious. He turned to Karin, ignoring both the grip on his hand and the warmth flooding into it.

"So, since you brought me here, what exactly do you want to do?"

"Hold on, I'm lookin', I'm lookin'," Karin's onyx eyes flashed under her cap, giving his a reprimanding glance before turning to the festivities. The noise grew as they stood, looking around, she trying to scan the place for an object of interest…and he bound to her by the hand.

The noise was starting to bother him. He checked again inside of him as he waited, the desert-like warmth in his body an reminder of his dragon's disappearance. Hyourinmaru still was absent, and it did not sit well with him. If a hollow should come…

"You've ever done that?" Karin pointed to their left. Hitsugaya lazily turned to follow her finger, seeing it end with a circular platform. A gaggle of spectators surrounded it, and standing on top was a red-haired adolescent trying vainly to perfect the art of singing. The white-crowned captain could feel his ears begin to bleed.

"Done what? Sing?"

"No! You know what Karaoke is, right?" Karin asked.

"No. Enlighten me." Toshiro responded, in truth not interested but humoring her all the same.

"Well…its kinda like singing, but its freestyle. You go up on the stage there, and you sing the words." Karin motioned to a monitor which bore its back to them.

"And you have to sing in front of _them_?" Toshiro pointed to the crowd surrounding the shrieking adolescent, who appeared to becoming bolder and more belligerent with each note sung.

"Uh, yeah. Its kinda the point."

"…." Toshiro looked at her, her face a mix of expectation and challenge, and then back to the boisterous crowd, which he noted was grabbing at bottles with intent to hurl. He fixed his teal eyes on her black ones, and flatly responded, "Heck no."

"Ah, c'mon!"

"I'm been struck in the head three times already, and every time you've been responsible. Darned be it if there's a fourth."

"Oh…fine." Karin tapped her foot impatiently. She lead him away from the karaoke booth just as the crowd got bold enough to flog the ear-challenged teenager with their hastily collected bottles.

She stopped at another booth, hosted with luxuriant pinks and oranges and a short, limber woman with an ivory mask concealing her face. The mask's grin met their arrival.

"Hello! Welcome to the game's booth! What're gonna do for you younglings? Oh…how quickly they fall in love!!"

"I am not her boyfriend." Toshiro defiantly responded.

"Oh shucks, don't spoil her feelings, Chappie." The harlequin mused, pointing at Karin. Hitsugaya looked, and saw a hint of blush on her cheeks, though from what escaped him. "You're holding hands even! How can you-"

"Please shut up and tell me the point of this booth."

"Oh…well…" The harlequin stuttered, but bounced into explanation.

Apparently, the point of the game was to take a small ring, and loop it on the neck of an empty soda bottle. The problem lied with the fact that the bottle necks were all grouped together, and the close proximity of the necks would cause the rings to jostle and collapse to the ground, as Hitsugaya supposedly anticipated. He had four tries with the rings, and after handing some money over (Toshiro grumbled as he handed over his miniscule amount of yen), and _finally_ allowing his hand some freedom from Karin's grip, Toshiro took the challenge.

The first toss was a mere miss. A practice shot. Nothing more. Toshiro was far sharper than people gave him credit for, and he could tell enough after each joust-no matter what it was.

He could see that this game was biased extremely. The ring was just wide enough to fit the gap between each bottle neck, and that realization was annoying enough.

"This game is fixed," Toshiro whispered plainly.

"So that means you give up?" Karin challenged. "I tell you what, if you win, I'll let you choose where to go."

"But I don't-" Toshiro stopped, sighing before he could finish his sentence. "I get to choose?"

"Yeah."

"All right." He remarked, a confident, almost sinister smirk on his face. He had an idea, and after all, the mechanics were easy to figure for this game.

"Pick your prize." Toshiro confidently retorted. His hands, though sluggish in his newly acquired gigai, were deft enough. One moment, the blue, plastic ring was in his hand. The next, the ring swiftly exited his hand, snagging one of the upper corners on the bottleneck square.

He found the raven-haired girl's dropped jaw a refreshing and enjoyable sight.

Even more enjoyable was her bugged eyes and blushing face as he pointed back at the karaoke stage, intending for her to take center stage. Her mouth probably dropped another centimeter or two…he could not tell with his smile.

"Pick your prize, Kurosaki." The 10th captain replied, his finger never leaving its position towards the karaoke stage.

For once, the normally sharp-tongued tomboy was mute.

--

"Darnit Toshiro! Why didn't you tell me _that _song was going to be up?!"

"I've never dealt with a karry-okie-"

"_KAR-RO-KAY_, Shiro-chan!"

"Its Hitsugaya." The white-haired captain responded automatically. "It looked like you were enjoying yourself, anyway."

Karin's response was nonverbal and sharp. Her hand smote the back of his head, forcing him out of step, as they walked away from the carnival. Her cap was off, and Toshiro found her face…interestingly magnetic to him. Her raven-hair seemed to shine with the passing light of the lamp post, the sun having dropped from the world. The girl gave a light of her own, for despite offering her end of the bargain, it had been a rather…entertaining affair. He had never heard the song either, but he figured that Momo might like the lyrics.

"What was the name of that song again?"

"Uh…"Karin turned a deeper shade of red. "It was some foreign song anyway."

"_Kurosaki_." Toshiro remarked.

"Don't call me that! Its Karin, and just Karin!" The girl snapped beside him. "I think it was called…uh…_Kiss from a Rose_? Bleaahh! Too girly for me."

"…I thought it was nice." Toshiro said quietly. Karin fell into her own awkward silence after that.

They found no words, but were amazed at the length of the carnival, with booths lining sidewalks like trees in the wilderness. The unusual workers in their zestful motley continued to patrol around, and though neither would say it aloud, they found comfort in each other's grip, their hands ensuring that the other would not flee. It was not like there was any romantic attachments to it…

"Your brother is going to kill me when we get to your house. Your dad too, if I'm not mistaken. It is a _school _day."

"I told you it would be fine. _I _invited you, remember? Ichigo won't do anything but scold me." Karin answered, a smile on her face. "Thanks for the doll anyway. I didn't think they had so many comic book dolls."

Toshiro rolled his eyes. He had no clue what these creatures were. He had heard nonsense words like _Naruto, Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokemon, _and the like. What interested him was that Karin chose something the vendor called a "Blue-Eyes White Dragon"…something which reminded him strongly of Hyourinmaru. This did not suit him well, for it was but another reminder of his lost powers. He could feel his spirit roiling inside…but simultaneously it was erratic and amorphous, unable to be coaxed into a solid form.

"Toshiro…do you ever smile?"

"I did when you sang."

"Bullcrap." She responded to him, but he did not say anything, instead content to the yawning silence.

They continued closer to their home-his interim, her permanent. The street lights mingled with the summer warmth, and the two kids wandered closer and closer to their sanctuary, becoming more and more aware of the darkness around them. Both had been exposed to the demons named hollows, and neither sought to find one lurking amidst the dumpsters or the alleyways. Toshiro Hitsugaya was on his own, subject to protecting a girl yet unable to protect himself.

_Momo…what would you say now…if you saw me?_

"Hey. Toshiro."

"What?"

"I just remembered. I got you something that you forgot."

Toshiro gave her a confused glance. "What are you talking about? I'm borrowing everything to the clothes I'm wearing from your family."

"No, no! You remember when you were out like a light couple of days ago?"

"For the last time-"

"Shiro-chan. You forgot this."

Karin reached into her jeans pocket, and withdrew a small, rectangular shaped plastic-wrap parcel. Teal eyes widened in shock, for he recognized instantly the device before his eyes.

"Where did you-?"

"Take it!" Karin shook it, creating a visible jostling of liquid as they stopped over this conundrum. "Its yours, isn't it?"

"Karin…that's not…"

"_Buenos Noches, Niño._" A voice interrupted their argument, augmented by muted footfalls on the sidewalks. A bipedal shadow crept into the light, and Toshiro could feel his stomach turn. Karin did not react as he did, but instead turned her head to the trespasser.

Both midnight black and sea green eyes caught hold of the man, who had now fortunately sauntered into the light. It was only early evening still, but even the warmth of the summer could not help the drained Soul Reaper from keeping his blood from going cold. He knew that voice-deadpan and gentle. What bothered him was that he never got the name of that madman…

"My, my…what are your parents doing? To let their _Niño_ run like Hanzel and Gretel…ha. Ha. Ha. Amusing. All we need now is _una bruja _to come any eat you, but I am no cannibal. I am too…dignified, for that…ha. Ha. Ha."

Boy and girl fixated on the stranger, and observed him and his strange dress. He did not dress as a carouser, though more of a socialite: A three-piece suit with tie and white undershirt bedecked the emotionless man, punctuated with dandy-clean black shoes, straightened black gloves, and an fedora that melted with the midnight bliss. A hand remained perched onto his hat, keeping it leaning somewhat forward as if to prevent passersby from seeing his face. The other hung inert at his side, quivering lazily for a chance to act, like a South American python or viper. The skewed light from the nearby lamppost did not penetrate enough to see the face of the man, already half covered by his large fedora, but Toshiro had a sinking feeling the man was smiling…smiling under a pasty complexion with a dagger-like chin. Matching with the ebony attire, Toshiro and Karin both spotted hair as black as the grave-robbing crow, flowing from his scalp from the back as if he were a sable waterfall.

Both remembered who this was. And both found it _impossible _that he could be standing there, merely ten feet away from their bodies.

Then, it spoke.

"Toshiro Hitsugaya…_Capitan Decimo _of the Gotei 13. I did not expect meeting you so soon. My. Luck smiles on me. Well, I better make the best of the situation. _Me Llaman el Diablo sellado siete. _The Seven-Sealed Devil, for those who don't understand." The stranger bowed low, taking briefly his black fedora off as he spoke. He then raised himself back to his full height, and slowly walked towards them. Toshiro gulped, and quickly grabbed Karin's hand, in case retreat was a necessity.

It was becoming more so, as the stranger-who he had supposedly killed just a few nights ago-said his next, inevitable statement.

"I'm in need of entertainment. Would you kindly duel me?"

--

End Chapter.

Translations:

_-Un bruja_-A witch


	5. Chapter 5: Brimstone

Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH! That honor goes to Tite Kubo.

Now, the story continues…..

_**Chapter 5: Brimstone**_

_**August 2**__**nd**__**, Early night…**_

Karin Kurosaki was never one for regret, but she was beginning to wonder if staying out this late was a good idea in the end. She knew Ichi-nii and "Papa Goatface" would worry (she could even picture how each of their faces would mold into the predominant emotion: Ichigo would be livid, while Daddy would be brimming with tears) but now it seemed that the desire for entertainment and joviality would come at a cost. A nauseous feeling broiled in the pit of her stomach as she stood, dumbfounded and self-conscious, in the pale streetlight, by the almost alien, isolated buildings that by day were shops. She felt stupid standing stock still as she did…one hand quickly ensnared by Toshiro (no doubt acting on his Soul Reaper impulses) while the other clutched that abominable plastic-wrapped package nakedly.

Her eyes and attention had been diverted from both, with the arrival of the stranger, a stranger she immediately recognized yet could feel her large eyes blinking like a fish to register. Karin could feel the white-haired boy tense as he also focused on the man. His face contorted from his usual apathy to a visible anxiety and rage, the lines on his young face turning to spears. His eyes sharpened to ice, and he cast a furtive glance at her.

"Karin." He whispered.

"Yeah."

"Didn't your father say that the tuxedoed man was with the angels?"

"Uh…yeah?" Karin said, sure of what her daddy stated but now, confronted with this impossible reality…

"Looks like the angels didn't want him then. Dammit, Renji!" Toshiro's brow creased more, as the man casually walked, his black suit glimmering off the waxing, fluorescent light. "Look…remember when I said I lost my powers?"

"Yeah, Shiro-chan?"

"_This is the reason._" Toshiro huffed out. He was trying to hold himself together, but it was apparent that his icy exterior was chipping off at the aura of the debonair man. This man, who had identified himself as the Seven-Sealed Devil, sauntered over to them, holding neither an air of malignity, nor an presence of hospitality. Karin was used to feeling the evil presence of monsters long before she actually caught sight of their contorted, hideous forms. To have someone seem so normal, and _blanket _their power…it frightened her, and that fear was loathsome.

For the _Diablo_ himself, he appeared the epitome of calm and gentlemanly, at least as Karin had learned. Though extremely and obviously reluctant to reveal his face (evident from the placement of a hand on his fedora) he walked with a confidence that could be admired in retrospect and feared in the present-text. Karin was only an eleven-year old girl, after all…she had seen shows of machismo and bravado, of courage and fortitude, rarely in the spectrum of life and often in the realm of fiction. The parakeet friend of Ichigo was one such example, but he was a person she could relate to. A tough and _realistic_ person the giant savior had been.

But this man…there was no panic. There was no emotion. There was only restrained body language and words that seemed lacking in their esoteric weight.

"Well? What are you waiting for? If a chance for _prayer_ is in order…then I can give you that, _dragon pequeno._" Karin could feel her eyebrows raising as the man spoke, the deflation of emotion apparent with each trimmed word.

Toshiro didn't respond, choosing instead to clench his teeth and tighten his hold on Karin's hand. For the raven-haired girl, circulation was vanishing quickly.

"…perhaps, _tu no rezas para dios?_" The man continued on, stopping abruptly as he neared, now standing within two arms' reach of the pair. "I suppose religion is not a topic for Soul Reapers."

"Karin…I need you to run. Get home, if you can." Toshiro whispered hastily.

"But Toshi-"

"_Tu padres_ must be lazy; lacking manners to your elders _and _staying out at night…What a shame." The Seven-Sealed Devil said. Under his hat Karin could note his smile. "Hurry, hurry. Turn into a Soul Reaper. Your flesh and bone will only slow you down against me, _Yo aseguro tu._"

The man then began to walk away, but Karin could feel Toshiro squeeze her hand hard as he tensed again. Her eyes were drawn not to the strange, well-dressed dude, but his hand. He was innocently taking off his glove. Without further word, it was discarded, flaccidly slumping against the street.

"This is the first time I've met you, and already I have a poor opinion of you. Aren't you supposed to act in accordance to your rank? With so many underlings shuffling around…_un capitan _should act with more dignity, no?"

Karin studied Toshiro, whose surprise was obvious. Karin herself could mirror that, her sneakers digging on the ground.

_Did he say the first time? But Toshiro said…?_

"You don't remember me? I killed you." Toshiro responded.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Amusing. A jest indeed. You say you have already killed me, but we have never met before. I have heard of you . Quite interested in you…and apparently…you have annoyedsomeone. Not that I care. I'm in it for the fun. Ha. Ha."

Hearing a man laugh without any emotion attached widened Karin's perspective in a way he did not want. She knew that something was sincerely wrong with this man: The word 'freak' perhaps was a better moniker than 'devil', and his attempts to dress himself and pass away from being a 'freak' only amplified that. She could not deny what fear lied inside of her, but damned it all if she would let it out, when Toshiro himself seemed so unsure.

Toshiro turned briefly to her, "Do you feel any thing?"

"Feel anything? Aside of your hand?" Karin whispered back.

"No! You've felt hollows before? Is this guy emitting any spiritual pressure?"

"Uh…no?"

"Damn it…"

"My hedonistic urges are slashing in my _cabeza_…hurry up, please." The Seven-Sealed Devil responded, his back turned around to the pair. He stood as a statue, lacking any indication that indeed he felt impatience. Whether this was from discipline or from something else, Karin couldn't hazard a guess.

"Give me a moment." Toshiro answered. His voice was a mask of confidence, his gritted teeth, furrowed eyes, and precipitating sweat betraying his conviction of being tough. It was obvious that he knew something that she did not. There was more to his statement than merely the fact that he lost his powers to this guy.

Toshiro let go of her hand, and slowly, with the resolve of a desperate man, placed himself between her and the dapper hunter. His hands were shaking, and in an epiphany, Karin realized what exactly it was: Frustration, and the rage to accompany that helplessness. She was unarmed. He was unarmed. And this man was not moving, even with the egotism to present his back to him.

"Would you kindly get your girlfriend out of here?"

"……"

The mental stalemate continued. Neither black-tuxedoed man nor white-crowned boy moved from their position. Karin couldn't find her own movement, and instead turned her attention to her surroundings, midnight-orbs searching hopefully for an equalizer. Her environment was stagnant and a polar opposite to the festive carnival they had just left. Perhaps as they had been drawn to the carnival in droves, and now the lay of the land had been abandoned in their own fun-seeking quests. Karin found the silence to be smothering for her, and each spoken exchange from the two stabbed into the thick, summer humidity with the abruptness of a cleaver knife. She looked at the ominous buildings, having cast off their humble appearances with the shadow of night: Clothes stores and banks metamorphosized into abandoned husks of brick and wood, bearing no longer the neighborly touch that was Karakura town. The streetlights above birthed to light their will-o-the-wisps, shining eerily and yet plainly down upon them, gaining the visibility they lacked before. The street itself was a silent and yet outspoken tongue of concrete, at last free from the roars of the mainstream cars. Karin turned her eyes to the passes between the buildings, observing alleys that may or may not lead to dead ends. She could not tell, for the light did not extend that far in its fake grasp.

Her eyes twinkled as she caught sight of miscellaneous objects scattered chaotically at the beginnings of the alleys. Garbage cars and dumpster for the homeless and the criminal dotted just on the fringes of the alley to her right, but she noticed a collection of messy items laying inert by a yawning cylinder. There was a brick, a glove, and, what gave her hope the most…a lead pipe.

She paced her sneakers and tucked her cap under her arm, nearing the lead pipe whilst avoiding both the arrogant and handsome nutcase and her friend Toshiro as well. She could tell his attention was on the stranger, the _killed _stranger, standing before them, but she could at least help him. A lead pipe was a handy beat-you-up stick after all, and this guy was pretty normal by dandy appearances.

"I am getting tired of waiting, little dragon," the man said suddenly, his head turning ever slightly to see his prey. Karin froze, awaiting a response. "I've been more than reasonable in granting you time to extricate your maiden. (Karin blushed profusely at the offhanded remark, and was glad Toshiro couldn't see her now) But even the manners of a gentleman can wane. Would you kindly hurry?"

"……"

"Your silence speaks volumes, little dragon." The man resumed, again turning his back. "I'm also giving you ample time to turn into a Soul Reaper. Why haven't you?"

"…you mean _you don't know?!_ You _took my powers!_" Toshiro burst out, making Karin jump as her hand reached down cautiously for the lead pipe.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Amusing. You accuse _me _of stealing your powers? Only a coward and a rube would do such a thing, and I am neither. Besides…this is the first time we've met. I've heard wondrous things about the 'Child Prodigy'. All and all, with your spiritual pressure, you should be able to easily kill me. Come. Show me your strength. Show me your conviction. Entertain me with the defense of your precious things. Come. Come. I want to see your peak."

Karin could hear Toshiro spit on the ground, signaling the height of his frustrations. Karin by now had the lead pipe in her hand, and she prodded Toshiro with it. He stared at her for a moment, the intense negative emotion wrought on his face, before looking at the pipe, and raising an eyebrow.

"Go on. Take it.' Karin urged.

"…I owe you." He said humbly. His pride was so obviously in ribbons that uttering 'thanks' a second time probably would've sunk his mentality. He grabbed the pipe, and took a reluctant step.

"Karin. Hide. Now."

"No! Toshiro, you're still-"

"My patience has waned." The Seven-Sealed Devil announced like as if he were delegating a promotion. "Are you so arrogant you would think to defeat me in that suit of flesh and bone? A shame. An infuriating shame."

Karin turned her eyes to his ungloved hand, and saw the man jerk his hand in a right angle. What happened next, a prelude of a ripping noise she could recall from her time in the clinic, nearly made her sick. A flap of tissue on the palm of his hand blasted off suddenly, and a blade lengthened and jutted its way out from his arm. The blade popped out, sliding with mechanical proficiency, with stains of blood and flesh, and yet the man did not flinch as he did the act, patiently waiting for the blade to slid all the way out of his arm, and grasping the hilt as it came with a bleeding hand. With his other hand firmly pressing his fedora to his head, he pointed the sword at them both.

"Is it so much to ask that you duel me with all of your might, _dragon pequeno?_"

Toshiro motioned for Karin to go, placing a hand on her shoulder as some consolidation of comfort. Karin met his eyes, steeled and determined, and nodded in understanding. No more words could be said. Much like the knight, he was letting her leave by standing in the way of a psychopath on a road that bore no Samaritans.

She ran out of sight, but for Toshiro Hitsugaya, she could not abandon him. Even as she heard him speak to him, clearly and eloquently as he could muster, she could not run home. She remembered the plastic-wrap package in her hand, and wondered…

Her eyes scanned the area again. She eyeballed a big, green dumpster, on the other side of the street and hid over there, while her hands went to work, unraveling the package. She was but two streetlights away, and she could still hear him trying to delay the fight with conversation. A pipe was strong, but not tough enough against a dude that could produce swords out of his darn arm.

The light glossed over her raven-hair and her denim clothes, as she hoped that Toshiro's forgotten package had something of use….

--

It was not fear that shook Toshiro Hitsugaya as he stared down a man he believed he had injured and killed mere nights ago. No, fear was unbecoming of a captain, even a deposed captain, and he would not allow that status to pierce him. He had already been embarrassed by the turn-out of everything so far, but this erased it entirely. The 10th company captain was used to seeing dead people twice: This was common in the involvement of the Soul Burial technique which prompted the pluses to Soul Society and then allowed to interact, memories wiped clean, in his world.

But this man…had not this man bled to death by his hand? This crazed man who so deemed himself a twisted gentleman? Had he not killed him? Inwardly, Toshiro was torn. It was frowned upon for a Soul Reaper to kill a mortal, but with this being the second time that the draconic captain encountered the Seven-Sealed Devil, he was wishing that he had frozen and shattered this freak to a thousand pieces.

Toshiro knew he was in a losing situation. He _had _spiritual pressure, but it was erratic, in a tangle, and thus utterly useless. This same man made his power explode like the very ice he once commanded, and now, he was weak. He could not leave his gigai, for he would be as weak as a plus, and vulnerable because of it. Hyourinmaru was still lost to boot to his troubles, and he had never felt so alone before. At least, he reasoned, he still had his ability to detect spiritual pressure, however handicapped it was…it just made his face warp into a scowl with the realization that Karin was still in the vicinity, having hidden behind the giant dumpster some ways off.

The 10th company captain felt a humorless smile breach his lips. It was nice to know some people were too darn stubborn to abandon you.

He twirled the lead pipe in his arm, a bit light for his taste, but useful enough. He wondered if it could hold against the man's tizona (A/N: See bottom), but he offered no sacrifice to his concerns. Briefly again he cast his eyes around the area, doubting there was a blade but looking anyway. To their right was a clothes store, made relevant by the displayed khaki pants placed at the window. To the left was a massive bank, at least two stories tall, complete with its own showy fountain, and constructed almost like the Aztecs…with blocky marble and triangulated walkways that separated the greens. Behind him he could still hear the revelry of countless idiots, abandoning the preparedness that would be required for the work day tomorrow, and instead falling under the angler's lure of the hypnotic carnival. In front were repeating streetlights and the various commodities of the sidewalk, like newspaper vendors, soda machines, and rows upon rows of buildings and traffic lights, but these were all behind the more immediate threat. The suburbs was their destination, and personally, Hitsugaya could take gladly the scolding of his temporary host Isshin and the pummeling of his son Ichigo, just to get away from this man in the ridiculous tuxedo. The child prodigy sighed, and remembered what he had seen this man do in the past:

1). The Seven-Sealed Devil, as it was again obvious, could summon blades out of his body. Whether there was a limited number of blades he could summon within a timeframe, Toshiro did not know.

2). This guy could move ridiculously fast. Even without any spiritual pressure or knowledge of _shun-po_, the narcissus disappeared and reappeared with such speed he could be teleporting. This could be bad for him, for Toshiro currently couldn't _shun-po_ himself, and would easily fall prey to the madman's blades if he wasn't careful.

3). The pallid man could increase the power of his opponents. Now this Hitsugaya may be able to use to his advantage. The man had seemed fixated on fighting Toshiro at his maximum in the past. Maybe if by coaxing this man into touching him, he could regain his jumbled powers, summon Hyourinmaru, and freeze him until he could get back to Soul Society (Alas, another consequence of his overstrained powers was that he could not open a gate to Soul Society himself).

The white-haired boy waited, twirling his makeshift weapon as he got into stance.

The Seven-Sealed Devil kept his blade up, but his smile lowered in the fluorescent lights. "My. You still fail, even now with my _espada _drawn, to summon your powers? To release your _espada_? I guess being a child prodigy has turned you into an arrogant brat." He spoke to Hitsugaya exactly as he did before, with absolutely no emotional attachment. Toshiro secretly envied this kind of resolve. It was easy to manipulate an adversary duped by his emotions. It was near-impossible to control one that had no obvious emotions. Still, he watched the man, whose ennui and frustration were becoming apparent, in spite of his gentlemanly speech. He leaned on the streetlight now, finally taking his hand off his hat, and removed his other glove with his mouth.

Maybe…just maybe…Toshiro could benefit. Stall a little. There were no hollows, for some eccentric reason, but Renji should be back soon…

"Before we begin, I would like to ask you a few questions. Is that all right, devil?"

"You're stalling again, _nijo mal_." He chided from under his voluminous fedora. "Still, I guess we can form a bargain. _Tres preguntas_, I shall give you. By the time I answer the third question…_shikai_, _bankai_, or flesh suit…I will attack. Understand?"

"Yes." Toshiro responded. The man was a fake in very thing save the fight. Gaudy mannerisms aside, Toshiro was at a disadvantage.

"First question. What is your name?" Toshiro asked.

"Ha. Ha. Is not my alias enough?" The man asked back, gesturing with his hand as the brim of his fedora-where his eyes would be-stared in the 10th company captain's direction. "_El Diablo sellado siete_ is just a trade name, as I'm sure you, smart little dragon, figured out. An irony, that one with such faith as I, would be branded a devil, but…I guess it doesn't matter. My birth name is Januarius Bloodswerth. Call me Janus is you must." He motioned with his sword, indicated that Toshiro continue on with the next inquiry.

He had to think a bit before the obvious question struck him. "You said you came after me because I had annoyed someone. Can you tell me who?"

The smile must've widened, for his words seemed more amused than the flat affect punctuating it. His lazy posture did not alter from its position.

"You're being too obvious, little dragon." Bloodswerth told him, as if scolding a child. "It is true that I was hired to accost, duel, and most likely dispose of you…but unfortunately, my employer wished to remain confidential. I will tell you that, had I known about your alternate dimension, your abode called Soul Society, I would've come after _all _of you anyway. Such forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest…and I was getting tired of monsters."

The un-answer-for the dandy in the hat did not in the least give a clear answer to his question-bothered Toshiro. Apparently this man wasn't the least of his worries, but who could possibly…Hollows were out of the question, and they were the most obvious enemy, so…

"You're down to one question, boy. Make it count. I will pounce on you soon."

Toshiro stared at the man, and the perfect question hit him. "July 30th, I was stationed here to overlook a family, when I ran into you for the first time. I killed you then. So how or why are you hear again?"

This was the golden question. The body language of this man spoke volumes more than his flat affect speech, as he bolted up, the tizona twirling in his hand. His pallid lips seemed to purse, as if debating whether to tell the truth, lie, or resolve some other confusion. But the man turned back, jerked his free hand, and produced in similar gory fashion, another tizona to match him.

"For a question, that was pretty _loco_. Stupid, too. You and I have never _met _each other before today, need I insist again? I have only seen you on pictures and posters…I am not even familiar with the power of your-how do you say?-zan-pakto? I have heard it was a dragon, and so I was attracted to you: An enviable death is one by a dragon. You keep insisting on seeing me, but that is impossible. You couldn't have killed me: I stand before you now, breathing and beating. July 30th, you said? That is when you saw me? Ha. Ha. Ha. I was not even in this dimension. I was in _your _Soul Society."

"Liar! I know who I fought! Nobody else dresses exactly like that!!" Toshiro roared. "The reason I can't summon my zan-pakuto is because of your touch!"

"…How do you know of my-" For the first time the man seemed confused, as if jostled by the information that only he knew. "My _sello septimo _is positive energy amplification, but there is no feasible way you could know…are you a telepath?"

"No!" Toshiro shouted, raising now his pipe. The absurdities, the inanities, the damnable lies…these combined with his stress were mounting on him…at this rate he would explode. "I've fought you already! Don't you understand?! I _fought you before!!_"

"Ha. Ha. Well…this might be more amusing than I thought." Bloodsworth laughed hollowly, like the wind in a rotten log. "You claim to know my moves? Well, I live with a certain creed in mind, little dragon…All warriors are made of two parts-his conviction and his power. I live for the fight, and that conviction grants me my power. Lets see what you, soul reaper, fight for."

Toshiro readied his pipe as if it were a sword, chastising both the pipe's awkwardness and its lack of a spirit. He had an idea what the tricky 'gentleman' would do, and so readied himself.

The moment came. One second, The Seven-Sealed Devil stood placid next to the streetlight. The next, as before, the man in hat and tuxedo vanished with a blink.

Toshiro turned just in time to catch his downward thrust, his pipe vibrating from scraping lead to steel. The smaller soul reaper couldn't help but grin as he met the glimmer of eyes under the hat, the gentleman's face now a look of surprise.

"You're too predictable, attacking me with the same moves."

"Don't be so rash, little dragon. Protect your hoard as much as your pride." The shock evaporated in the nightly humidity. He moved his unoccupied tizona to slice downward, but the 10th captain leapt out of the way. It felt sluggish and restricting to him, he noted, nowhere near the speed his mind was used to. He had a brief chance to fix his view on the Devil before he disappeared again into the winds, and reappeared at his flank. Toshiro barely was able to guard with his makeshift weapon, and he could feel the man's weight pressing into him.

A smile grew slowly as he struck, and he disappeared again before rounding about, and striking at his other flank. Hitsugaya again just barely dodged the attack, the blade thrusting at his ribcage, and missing his mark.

Defense would not curb the maniac standing before him; despite the physiological constraints of his gigai, he needed to fight back. That was more than dangerous, but still, if he defended all the time, he would inevitably get tired in this blasted gigai. With a recklessness birthed of desperation and ingenuity, Toshiro pivoted off his foot, and leapt before Bloodswerth could recover his blade's air. His pipe swung horizontally, with intent to crack the man's skull, but again the man's speed-so easy to underestimate with his spiritual pressure at normal-came to haunt him again. Effortlessly, the gentleman leaned back and evaded the strike, vanishing from sight in a flurry of speed and reappearing at his front.

"Too clumsy. Attack my abdomen. It will jostle my juices, _dragon pequeno_." The man smirked under his hat, slapping with his blade in a teasing, goading gesture. It was a miniscule slap, but it did cut his cheek, producing drabbles of blood. It also pissed him off.

Toshiro renewed his attack, hoping that a wild onslaught would 'entertain' this guy enough, but again his gigai's physicality couldn't hope to match the supernatural speed of this narcissus. Each swing of his pipe either met air or the stoic concrete. Each time he missed, each time he made a swing for his skull or body with his thin cudgel, the man evaded with a gradually shrinking smirk, disappearing as an arrogant illusionist and reappearing with prestige that frustrated the 10th captain. Vaguely more irritating was how that damn hat stayed planted on his head. Also vaguely to his realization was their movements…he was slowly making his way nearer to Karin, and that did not bode well in the pit of his stomach.

The distraction cost him, as he wildly flailed his pipe-for-a-weapon, missing by so much that the Seven-Sealed Devil didn't even perform his speed trick, but merely took a step back to avoid. His blade came down as Toshiro completed the swing, but it did not cut the flesh. Rather, it merely sundered the fabric of his borrowed shirt in twain, and revealed his skin. Toshiro, more perturbed and irritated than shocked, recovered with his pipe, and swung back.

The other blade of the Devil countered and parried, forcing Toshiro's weapon to the ground with the strength of a man. The first tizona twirled playfully, and smote him again, this time on his left cheek, to match his right with bubbling blood scratches. The dandy released his parry-grapple, and the beleaguered 10th captain jumped back to give himself space, steadying himself now next to a postal box.

The raven-haired dandy only tutted him, as if in deepening disappointment. "How can you be _un capitan_? Tell me, would you kindly? Be honest, would you kindly? An arrogant brat like yourself cannot be trusted to lead soldiers to confront monsters…are you so strong that you are _that reluctant _to summon your _espada_? I hope so…else I will be in-"

The man halted his conversation. Hitsugaya took his chance, catching him in a monologue, with his pipe at the ready in a single leap. The man did not initiate his unnatural speed, and for a moment, Toshiro felt that he would finally land a successful blow…until again the twin swords raised up in a cross guard half-heartedly, blocking his advance with bored expertise, and forcing him to the ground.

"…be incredibly disappointed." Bloodsworth finished.

Toshiro looked around the street, trying to find something. A possible stratagem formed out of his desperation, and he took back to his feet, flicking the clotting wounds on his face, and twirling his own pipe.

"Come and get me." Toshiro barked.

He could imagine the dandy's eyebrows raising as he said this. "You are in no position to give me orders, _dragon pequeno_. You are clearly too weak or too arrogant to fight me properly."

"Shut up and dance." Toshiro challenged. Perceptions were a trademark of his-he had learned this from fellow captain Sosuke Aizen. Intimidation did not work on this loon before, but if he can act quick enough…

"Ha. Ha. Amusing." The man muttered. He raised his swords loftily to stance, and disappeared as he did before…Toshiro raised his lead pipe in front as to guard his front, and the chastising voice of the madman again heralded him.

"I'm behind you, _capitan decimo_."

"I know." Toshiro whispered. The white-crowned soul reaper then ducked suddenly, allowing the incoming blades to sail over his head. For he himself, he turned in his duck, and tripped up the dandy, figuring that, unless he was teleporting, no matter where he landed, he would get him.

His aim was true. The unforgiving lead pipe, though small, chop blocked the unsuspecting man, and bowled him off the ground. Hitsugaya did not miss his chance: Like a snow dragon swooping down on his prey, he jumped on the man (figuring again that the man was not accustomed to fighting on his back) and started using the pipe in a way more dignified of a caveman. Once, twice, thrice…frustration, anger, and embarrassment fueled his arm to strike and club and smatter the hidden face of the man (that blasted fedora had landed to where it was covering his entire visage) over and over. His weakness prevailed into furious anger, and this given pipe was that hammer.

Eventually, the body of a child will give out. Toshiro huffed his weariness, observing the chips on the tube-end of the pipe. He cast it aside, feeling that the man called the Seven-Sealed Devil was unconscious, and that for another day he was safe. As if to bolster that belief, Janus Bloodswerth released his hold on his blades, each tizona eroding immediately as he let go. Unconsciousness was the lesser of two evils. If Karin wasn't there, with the surmounting stress he had been feeling recently, Toshiro suspected he would've killed the man.

"I told you once. I don't waste my time on suicidal idiots." Toshiro muttered, taking a long look at the inert man, before turning back to Karin. He was annoyed that she stayed, but grateful she didn't get involved, crouching behind the nearby dumpster.

"Hey! Toshiro! You were getting your butt kicked for some time! What took you?" She chided him. A vein throbbed in his forehead.

"Karn…I got it done alright?" The white-haired boy called to the raven-haired girl in exasperation and mental exhaustion. "Can we go home now?"

"But I never gave you your package!"

"Its not my-"

Toshiro did not finish. A swift boot to his head made him bite his tongue, and sent his face into the concrete in front of him. It was Karin's voice, now lost of its relieved humor and filled with panic, that notified him of what happened.

"Toshiro! You didn't kill him! The freakshow's back up!"

Militant instinct cajoled the Soul Reaper captain to his feet, his clothes now ruined by his abrupt fall. Aware that Ichigo was going to kill him if this man didn't beat him to the punch, Toshiro scrambled to his feet, preferring an uncertain death to an immediate one.

True as Karin had said, the 'freakshow' had arisen. His clothes were dirtied from the turn of events, and even now the man discarded his tuxedoed jacket, much like his sable gloves before. Unarmed though he was, Toshiro could tell the tension had thickened, and he only had to look at the uncovered, lower part of his pallid face to realize that, or even at his white undershirt. His mouth was now donned in the proverbial crimson mask, and while the upper part had been what Toshiro had been hitting, he could spot depressions from his thin pipe. But the 10th captain could see something else. It eerily reminded him of fellow captain Kenpachi Zaraki.

The Seven-Sealed Devil was _smiling_ with his 'crimson mask'. The blood decorated his lips as if it was glue-like lipstick, and yet he smiled at Hitsugaya from under his fedora.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Exactly what I hoped for."

"You-! You-! _What's with you?!_" Toshiro found himself shouting. He was beginning to crack, and it did not suit him. Also, his pipe was at the man's feet, and he had an inkling the nutcase wouldn't allow him to get it this time. But then again…maybe he would.

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Bloodswerth laughed hollowly, the running blood to color his teeth. "Perhaps you do not need your powers after all. Perhaps I'm not working hard enough. I've never seen someone read my _sello tercero_ before. My 'Whispering Feet' seal…you anticipated my movements and struck me down. Ha. Ha. You've fractured my frontal bone, and destroyed most of my upper face. _Fantastico_, _mi dragon pequeno_,_ fantastico._" As if to support this, he clapped, the hollow sound clamoring through the abandoned streets. "But you are at a disadvantage. I compliment you thus far. So, please, unearth another tactical play."

His hand made the tell-tale jerk, and Toshiro predicted his next move. Desperation again took hold, and he rushed him, aware of another tizona peeking out of the man's hand. He would not let himself get slaughtered by a masochist. Both lithe hands grasped his arm, and using his gaining momentum (and a move he remembered seeing Captain Sajin Komumura do before) he jumped, and slammed the arm to the ground. There was pain, evident from the man's strangled cry, but Toshiro did not allow himself solace. He had to end this…he had to-

"Do you know what the difference between us is, little dragon? Or shall I educate you?"

The man's voice was apathetic and calm, despite his obvious pain, so Toshiro did not realize it. Even though he stopped the obvious arm, the blade now hindered inside, he forgot the other hand.

A blade, unceremoniously wielded, pieced Toshiro's arm. Bloodswerth remained on the ground, but he found the time to summon another tizona, and use it to penetrate Toshiro. The soul reaper backed off, pulling the blade out by backing away, while incurring blood flow…again.

This allowed the Devil to stand up, now finding themselves as they were before: Hitsugaya in front of a postal box, while Bloodswerth stood in front of a steetlight. Toshiro brought his fists up to protect him, aware of Karin shouting at him at the top of her lungs. The dandy however, with blood continuing to stain his white-pressed shirt, only stood stock still, discarding his two, newly grown blades, and allowing them to carelessly wither to dust. His hand, as if by habit, shakily reached his fedora, pressing it onto his maimed skull.

"Well…do you know? The difference? By the way…Good ploy, jumping on my mannerisms. I'll have to correct that."

"I am a Soul Reaper and you are a mortal."

"Ha. You are so arrogant that so bring your status into the affair, when I, _un mortal_, hold you to your knees. No…What separates you from me is both conviction and power. Need I go further?"

Toshiro did not respond. Instead, he chanced a glance to Karin, who miraculously refused still to flee. The raven-haired girl frantically motioned to Toshiro, as if she wished to enact her own plan. Toshiro frowned, and motioned to her to leave (he had forgotten that his shirt was in tatters). The Seven-Sealed Devil, meanwhile, rubbed his hands together, and spoke forward, taking the 10th captain's silence as a go-to motion.

"You have proven your _genio_ to me, little dragon. That much is obvious. But this would've been over a long time ago, I suspect, if you went all out. The fact that you consistently lie to me, and refuse to release your power…it insults me as a warrior. I live for the fight. Its all that matters to me. The fact that I can kill you in that flesh suit right now burns me like the light of God. I wanted to fight a captain…in hope that the eight other Soul Reapers I've killed…were not a waste."

"You've killed other Soul Reapers?" Toshiro questioned. He wanted to sound angrier, but the wound on his arm panged him.

"Yes…I did. One from each company, save companies _uno, dos, diez, once, _and _trece._ But these were small fish. Little bunnies, that hadn't even grown long ears…whites stars, if you will. It took little effort for me to push them to their limits, and crush them at their peaks. I was bored by the time I killed the last one, and then I was told to meet a _capitan_…I was so hopeful. At least you've provided me entertainment thus far…but I want to test an idiom now."

"What's that?" Toshiro huffed out.

_"_They say the most dangerous animal, or dragon, in your case, is a wounded animal. Lets us kindly find out."

The man lifted his hat up briefly, allowing a small view of his nose, which had been obliterated into a red pulp by Toshiro's prior hammering, before muttering a few words under his breath:

"_Combinan, Sellos Primero y Quinto y Septimo: Smiting Azure Boomerangs."_

The dandy, who lacked any trace of a weapon, only reared back his hand, while his fedora engulfed again his face as he performed his mantra. Toshiro braced himself…his incantations seemed similar to some of Momo's _kidou_ spells, but he wasn't-

A glimmer of blue light in his reared hand. Four glimmers, in fact, dancing around…no, eight…

"Got you, _dragon pequeno_."

As if his arm were holding baseballs, he swung it underhandedly forward, and the minute blue light intensified briefly on the end of his hand, before disappearing. Toshiro briefly wondered what had occurred, but before he could mutter a defense, pain like which he couldn't remember feeling before erupted all over his body. From his torso and arms and legs and shoulders he felt his skin tissue revolt in anguish, screaming in a pain that was deemed too cruel. Toshiro didn't see it pass, but he felt guillotine-like blades, shaped almost like blue crescents, slice into his body. He counted at least seven, and saw them briefly, first touching his skin and then again on the other side, as he jerked from the pain.

The result did not stop. The man did his act again, and once more the incorporeal boomerangs cut him, lacerating his clothes to ribbons. He was slammed into the postal box behind him, before lurching forward, finding his knee, and his breath. The two-waved onslaught stopped as quickly as it came.

"You're bleeding. Wounded in pride and body, little dragon." The man chided. "Consider it payback for maiming my face." The man stepped towards him, and Toshiro found his strength waning. It was taking everything he could muster just to hold himself up with his amazingly damage free arm, the other still pining from its previous stab wound. Blood now rejoiced at its liberation, flowing out of him like a volcano's lava. He only could raise his head to see the man now standing above him…another tizona in his hand.

"My hats off to you. You were entertaining for a while, with your stories and tactical ploys…but I must kill you now. Remember this, as Charon comes for you: Those without conviction are lost, and those without power are spineless worms. Those with both live as I do, _victorioso_ and grateful of life. Those that have neither, as you so clearly do," The man droned on in his deadpan voice, clearly reflecting in word what he could not exemplify in sound, "are destined to die…like you and I."

Janus Bloodswerth raised his sword for the deathblow. Toshiro found he could not move.

He was saved by a cantankerous spectator.

A loud _clink_, resonating from glass products, could be heard, smashing unceremoniously into the man's maimed skull. The hat jostled briefly, fumbling askew, and the man lurched forward from the surprising blow. Toshiro could not react, but felt someone grab onto him, he looked, with blood-free eyes, at his savior…for the second-time, from the same menace, the impetuous Karin Kurosaki pulled his fat out of the fire.

"Hey! Why don't you take that, psycho!?" Karin shouted, quickly tucking her head under his shoulder to help him out. He winced, as it was the arm that had been stabbed, but she furrowed her eyes at his pain, as if scolding him for being a baby.

_Step in my skin, Kurosaki…and then scold me._

"What are you doing?" Toshiro muttered.

"Saving your ass!" Karin let out, swearing for emphasis. Toshiro resisted rolling his eyes.

They looked back, and saw that the unexpected move, interrupting his execution, had so thoroughly caught him flat-footed, that he stumbled into a building, catching himself on the brick wall. His hat still covered his face, miraculously, and yet he stood his ground. Karin, with Toshiro saddled, merely took her own look, with a countenance combined of awe and disturbance, before turning back, aware that her daddy would help out, and they needed to hurry.

It was a deadpan voice, still and stagnant as mosquito breeding grounds, that halted them. "Where…do you think you're going? Hansel and Gretel? We are not done yet."

Toshiro chanced a look, and his eyes bugged out again. It was not from shock, but from his mounting fatigue. The stranger, seemingly undefeatable, had retaken his place, readjusted his hat, produced a sword, and now moved after them, like some wolf in a fairy tale. Whether he still had access to his powers were another matter of speculation…but Toshiro did not want to guess, just yet. It was proving more and more dangerous to guess with this man.

He raised his unequipped hand, and again, Karin and Hitsugaya saw the tell-tale blue lights. "Girl. Set him down."

"No." Karin bit back like a dog.

"…It is ungentlemanly for a man of my caliber to cut up little girls. But I will do it if you impede me from my fun."

"Toshiro-Chan's my friend. He needs help. And you're a freakin' psycho! You should be in jail!"

"The bleating words of the powerless and the faithless…"The man mused. He grabbed his hat, holding it to where it hid his face, the circular brim now more obvious and holding dried stains of blood. "You are not worthy of my notice, mangy cur. It is frowned upon for me to strike a lady, a little _Niño _or _Niña , _with my sword, but…I can do something else…if you do not release that boy."

Karin for once did not respond to the man's banter, instead finding solace in holding Toshiro. He was glad the blood covered his unwarranted blush.

"Back home…we used to whip the naughty children of my hamlet. The priests seemed to take a liking to it…We would gather them, and whip penance into their sinful bodies…You hinder me from my fun…so I shall…"

Toshiro opened his eyes from the break, and found the man again standing in front of them, his hat held in one hand, planted on his head, while the other did not hold a sword. It held a belt.

"…whip you." The Seven-Sealed Devil finished. He smiled again, the blood now clotting on his teeth. He had said his frontal bone had been fractured…how then was he alive and walking?

Toshiro hung onto Karin, but made to move to confront him: Karin held him fast, and spoke up for him. "I don't want a belt. Try that little boomerang trick on me, why doncha?"

"All talk, no action…stupid, shameful cur…I never thought I'd encounter such arrogance. Oh well." He looked at the belt in his hand, then at his other hand, lowering to his side, and still twinkling with blue light. "It would be unbecoming of me to smite a child-even an interloping brat such as yourself. Oh…but I bore of talk. If you will not release him…then I shall cut your arm that binds him to you."

The Seven-Sealed Devil kept his pallid smirk upon his crimson face, as he tossed his belt aside, his blue-tinted hand now rearing to his back…Toshiro struggled to get her behind him, for he knew Bloodswerth was not bluffing. She in turn struggled to keep _him _behind _her_.

"Ah. So this is your conviction? A young love?" the pale-skinned dandy laughed hollowly, in observation of their trial. His hand was still in position, and a gruff retort could be noted soon. "Perhaps I should ask, if you survive, girl, where you got that."

Toshiro gave a confused look, bedazzled further by the dancing fluorescent lights of the surrounding streetlights. He could feel the weight of his gigai bearing on him. He could see Karin's face well up-half in a face of determination, and half in grim prayer for a cavalry. But she did not let go of him.. His wounds…he could not tell how deep they were, even with the covering of his clothes. The words of the loathsome narcissus struck him curious, and he stared over to where he may have spoken. Karin's other hand, he could see was occupied, with what appeared to be some bottle, holding some liquid…Toshiro distanced his concern, aware of the grim fate in front of them, and braced to lunge, as far as his tired body would allow.

He could not have seen it, due to the darkness. But he swore that the shadows began to take lives of their own, liberating themselves from dumpsters, mailboxes, newspaper dispensaries, and even the walls of buildings. They moved in unison, creeping behind the tuxedoed man, an impossibility of surrealism against an impossibility of life. The Devil, with his hat placed down and his eyes possibly bashed to jelly anyway, did not notice, as the blue wisps formed from four, to eight, to twelve, to sixteen…more and more…until he was satisfied with a lethal legion of these boomerangs.

"I will find me another _capitan _to kill. _Buenos Noches_, little ones."

His hand reared back to make the final blow…

…right as Toshiro noticed the two sword points pierce though Bloodswerth's left side and gut.

He groaned in surprise, for the first time letting emotion slip to his face-that of surprise-while the creeping shadows which did stab him, hovered nearer, into the light, and shed their umbra-like camoflage. One Toshiro recognized instantly, as Karin's protective older brother, Ichigo…though now he sported a giant sword and wore a soul reaper's kimono, for reasons he could not explain. The other shadow, who wielded a blade that seemed to erode to ash…Toshiro couldn't help but smile at the turnout, at the strawberry blonde woman who was again showing a bit too much on top for a dandy like the one she was piercing.

"Ah! To think…a damned jezebel…and an ruffian…Ah!"

"My name is Rangiku Matsumoto, Lieutenant captain of the 10th company." Matsumoto announced, a cold sternness alien to the frivolous revelry she was more accustomed to using. "I'll have your head for attacking my little captain."

"…Ha. Ha. Amusing." The man muttered. "I'll have to flee. This has turned into a two-on-one. I…hate…that."

Ichigo said nothing. His face spoke enough for him, contorted in a rage best described in Charlton Heston movies. His sword, his _zan-pakuto_ was bared, and it greedily dug into his flesh.

"_Sello Tercero."_

How the man remained indefatigable despite all the injuries he accumulated, No one dared to guess. His feet activated, and he ran, hastily and sloppily jerking the _zan-pakutos _of Matsumoto and Ichigo out of his body, and running past Toshiro and Karin. His hat, as if a sign of his retreat, flew from his head, and handed definitively in front of the young pair.

Both teal and midnight eyes looked up, to perceive their rescuers: He, a slopping mess of blood and sinew and destroyed shirts, and she, a tomboy with his blood dribbling on her. The buxom Matsumoto and the infuriated Ichigo stood before them, and behind them Toshiro could see four others…three dressed as Soul Reapers, and one dressed as a school girl.

"Karin! Where have you been!?" Ichigo roared.

"Darnit, Ichi-nii! Didn't you just see?! I was delayed, for goodness sake!"

Toshiro zoned out. He was too tired to listen in to another Karin-Ichigo argument, and too relieved to have his life…

The man was still alive…Like a devil indeed, he fled with his life.

_I'm in need of entertainment. Would you kindly duel me?_

Toshiro Hitsugaya would put this mystery down. Soon. Right now, he couldn't. Licking his wounds was a better idea.

And Matsumoto gave him a rather reprimanding eye right now…he wasn't going anywhere for sure.

--

End Chapter.

_Translations:_

Sello-Seal or Stamp

Tercero-Third

Primero-first

Septimo-Seventh

_tu no rezas para dios_- You don't pray to God?

Tizona-this is a type of sword used in Spain, particularly during the 16th century. It was notably wielder by a Spainard known only as "El Cid", and established against the Moors in particular.


	6. Chapter 6: Red Queen

Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH! That honor goes to Tite Kubo.

Now, the story continues…..

_**Chapter 6: Red Queen**_

_**August 4**__**th**__**, Afternoon…**_

It is always in the midst of adversity that what mettle men and women are made of is shone and forged. A metal does not become hard on its own, nor valuable in its spherical, ore form of infancy, except in its vast, universal potential…like clay before the sculptor, like paint before the artist, like limestone before the architect…it holds the promise of potential. It is up itself to the imagination and machinations of the sculptor, the painter, or the architect, as well as the situation, to make it into something strong, durable, and unique. An architect can build a majestic mausoleum or a shanty, cubic house from the same materials. A painter can make upon the canvas a portrait of stardom or a dabbling worthy of a chimp. The sculptor can forge from clay either solidified beauty, denuded in pale anatomy, or construct grotesqueries, folding themselves in obese sin…or poor humor.

The vessel or the substance may change, but it is always the situation that determines how the vessel makes use of its materials. Likewise, as such is it is with the pieces of the artistic, so too is it with humans, hollows, and even the elusive Soul Reapers. One may be dominated by mundane concerns. Another may be dominated by endless, abyssal hunger. The third may be dominated by aloof morality, for rules, more so than passion or the quality of life, matter and deserve to be named the greater good. Adversity thus serves as the mortar for the building of the greatest human, hollow, or Soul Reaper; Whether evil or good colors that situation is of no consequence. Adversity…the trials to be passed and the trophies to be won thereafter…this remains as a sickle of time.

It should thus be noted that adversity, to fit with these dynamics, is a chameleon of the grayest texture. Its forms many and its agendas multiple, such hardship should be the object, the tool, for any circumstance. It can be a mental block, a conflict of interest, or a giant of a man, standing before the trespasser, and preventing progress in its own way. Simultaneously, this adversity can be more subtle, much like the chameleon mentioned before, and can play its own role in the folds of happiness.

Toshiro Hitsugaya was becoming quite familiar with the face of his own hard times. This was quickly becoming a troublesome situation that no longer could he easily brush aside with his genius. To worsen it, complications had arisen, and more pieces had been added to the game board. Fortunately they had been added on his side. It was a fitting analogy: Like the king, the supposedly most powerful piece, he had been castrated in his abilities, limited to the point where he could only spit and huff in agitation. He could always order his 'minions' around, but it fell to them to be his sword and shield…if they mutinied or abandoned him, or otherwise ignored his rank, checkmate would not be far behind.

He did not need to think of defeat. It had already slapped him in the face.

Two days had passed since the return and flight of the Seven-Sealed Devil, and anarchy followed in his shadow. Perhaps he had forgotten that if he did not report to his superiors they would become either worried or suspicious, but be as it may, surprise had held him in its clutches. It was grateful surprise, despite his outward demeanor. The Devil had come close to killing him, if not physically more than mentally. Karin was not a warrior to begin with, and he guiltily brought her into the mix (the fact that she was too stubborn to leave both did not ease his guilt and found his admiration in such a task). Add to the fact that he still lacked his full potential, and he was surprised ultimately again that he even walked away from the fight.

But…the Devil had been exorcised by both the likely and the unlikely. Matsumoto, his lieutenant, came at the appropriate moment, as did the blood-red Ichigo. The very least he could do was show _some _gratitude.

Ichigo had none of it: Being the slave to his inner guardian as he was, he took out his frustrations on Toshiro himself, which consisted of him promptly grabbing him by the ear and jerking up as if from a hangman's noose, while simultaneously shouting at the top of his lungs. Of course, it took Karin, the arrived Rukia Kuchiki (who had come with Ichigo) _and _Matsumoto to release his grip, but Toshiro was in enough pain as it was.

He supposed, in retrospect, he could relate. He had asked both not to wonder around: They had, and nearly died for it.

If Ichigo and Rukia's arrival had been expected, then Matsumoto's _surely _came out of left field. Even more surprising were the Soul Reapers she brought/dragged with her. Hitsugaya had seen two of them before, often in the company of each other, and occasionally in one's case, having been a partaker of his lieutenant's drinking parties. They were of the 11th company, the heralds of the maniacal Kenpachi Zaraki, and while they were indeed the staunchest of loyalists to the spike-haired captain, they certainly had their own leisure which set them apart. One had been the epitome of hardened masculinity, complete with the marine's baldness and the gorilla's sturdy frame and strength, but not with its bulk. Rather, this soul reaper, as Toshiro recalled that night, was lithe, built to emphasize speed as well as power, skill more so than brute strength. He could be defined by both his incorrigible habit of wielding his saber in one hand and his scabbard in his other, and broadened by a draconic smile on his face, one that could almost be classified as daemonic when he was excited. This soul reaper was Ikkaku Maderame, the 3rd Seat of the 11th Company, and far stronger than even his smile or gleaming bald head could ever let on. Fighting wasn't just a job for him, as Toshiro had heard in the past. For Madarame…it was everything.

If Madarame was the exemplification of the _animus_ (the male aspect), certainly his friend would be more reasonable to be born a woman than a man, due to his obsession on his good looks. Hitsugaya remembered several times how Madarame referred to his purple-haired friend as a peacock-a bird that flaunts its beauty. Indeed, Yumichika Ayesegawa was very much a slave to beauty as Ichigo Kurosaki was a slave to his brotherly instincts. The fact that he liked numbers based on their structure was a testament to that willing thralldom, and his attention to appearance…if he wasn't a Soul Reaper, the 10th captain would've suspected that this cosmopolitan would've been a hair dresser. As it was, despite his overt concerns over beauty and his rather feminine antics, he was a decent fighter, though one with much more class than the aggressive Madarame, as he held the 5th seat of the 11th company.

Toshiro found no fault with bringing two bruising battle-monkeys to the forefront. Sometimes, when the enemy is unknown, a pair of maniacs that prefer to swing the sword than talk could be handy, especially if your opponent had a habit of asking genteelly for a fight. However, if Matsumoto had _only _brought a berserker and a narcissus, then the 10th company captain would have reason to chide his lieutenant, as that would mean, should the warriors or herself get injured, no one would be able to take care of the wounded. Luckily, Matsumoto hadn't been drinking when this had all been brought together. Wary of the possibility of injury, and recommended by a more open Byakuga Kuchiki, the strawberry-blond had searched for and brought (It would be later revealed that _dragged _was the more descriptive and correct term) a member of the 4th Company, which specialized in medicinal arts. For this, they carried a timid, overbearingly polite, and somewhat physically weak black-haired healer by the name of Hanataro Yamada. Apparently he had been of the 7th Seat, but no one would've been able to tell. Toshiro realized immediately that the kid had absolutely no self-esteem, and easily could be beaten back by force of word.

He had been polite enough, but Ichigo's misdirected anger had practically reduced him to a gibbering mound of tremors.

What bothered him most was that the pile of panic in the black kimono was still stronger than Toshiro was.

He would've ran his fist into a brick wall for all the pent-up frustration, had it not been for the wounds he had _already _received.

With the gaggle of new arrivals, it was destined to descend into chaos, and such loud chaos was doomed to incur another migraine on the part of Toshiro. He had no intention of stating his current situation to anyone, especially the other Soul Reapers. The embarrassment would've been too much for his pride, and probably Soul Society would never let him live it down. _Especially _Matsumoto. However, he realized, by this time, that speaking about his condition was unavoidable. He agreed quickly to deal with the circumstances, as well as the dumpster-truck load of questions destined to collapse on his little shoulders.

It was becoming apparent that Karin also rediscovered her appetite for inquisition.

The only good thing, he supposed, was that he had confirmation that Rukia Kuchiki had indeed been with Ichigo, and had been posing as a student until she could regain her powers back. Apparently, the reason for her absence was very much the same as his own: A loss of Soul Reaper abilities. However, the method was the complete opposite. Whereas he had lost his powers because he exceeded his limits, she lost hers because Ichigo Kurosaki sucked them out accidentally. For this reason, she was stranded in a gigai, without the ability to summon her own _zan-pakuto_, but was still able to supply _kidou_.

He wagered he would like a word with her, ASAP.

However, due to both his obligations to his surrogate family, Ichigo's radiant thralldom, and the fact that he was cut like salami, these questions would have to wait. Ichigo had shouted in his ear that his dad had left some hours ago, looking, shrieking, and apparently flooding the streets with tears as he was searching 'For his lost daughter and rebellious son-in-law'. At this point, the orange-haired orangutan that was supposed to be his 'sibling' catapulted himself out of the house, likewise searching for his sister, but with much more accuracy than his insane father.

Toshiro could feel his crippling headache coming on as he sat down, allowing himself to be healed by Yamada. He had taken a close look at the motley crew that had come, all for the sake of him and Karin: Yamada gave a rather shaken smile as he did his work; Matsumoto supplied a look of knowing as she cast her eyes between her captain and his 'date'; Madarame gave a fierce stare at Ichigo, who in turn gave Hitsugaya a look that could only be labeled as murderous; Ayasegawa focused inwardly on himself, fawning over his hair; Rukia gave a look combined of restricted confusion and flaccid awe; and Karin herself…well, she supplied a smirk hinting at gratitude but glossing with laughter at one's misfortune.

Toshiro didn't even want to remember Isshin's reaction when he came back: Even if the scars were healed, the shirt and parts he borrowed were torn to pieces. The result of this observation was he being mummified under a sea of bandages, over wounds that were no longer there, and instead were delusions of the patriarch.

In the end, Toshiro missed out on school; That was perhaps the only other silver lining to this scenario other than the fact he kept his life.

He had failed to ask Karin about the container in her hand the night before.

In the end, as he could not come to school due to 'medical purposes', Hitsugaya had sought out the Soul Reapers that came unexpectedly, finding the four of them at a routine park (three actually: Hanataro for one reason or another, had been deemed cute by a number of passersby. Due to this, he quickly was 'kidnapped' from the presence of Matsumoto, Madarame, and Ayasegawa by a cohort of young women. Ironically, no one deemed it fit to help him.) It was thus that he had to explain what he had gleaned so far, based on his own assumptions and what the man revealed to him.

_"You say you have already killed me, but we have never met before. I have heard of you . Quite interested in you…and apparently…you have annoyed someone. Not that I care. I'm in it for the fun."_

That, at least, was what the Seven-Sealed Devil had stated coherently, before indulging himself in the prospect of the fight. He loved his job, his want to fight: His creed apparently was to live by the fight. However, he was not hear of his own accord…and that meant someone sent him after him.

Another thing, however, which Hitsugaya couldn't understand, was the lapse of memory, and thus the lack of credibility the man may hold. Toshiro knew he saw that man less than a week ago, exactly in the same manner as before. That night he had seen him again, once more trimmed in a way that Ayasegawa could find envious. The white-crowned boy knew that such mannerisms could not so easily be copied. Add to the fact that Abarai never found the body of the damned dandy days after the first attack, and Toshiro could find it logical that the appearance-obsessed man came for a second attack, and his amnesia was a falsehood. He had to have been a good liar, though. Even with his face covered, he remained true to his story, and even mimicked the surprise of him knowing his moves.

_What exactly is that freakshow?_ Hitsugaya had repeatedly thought, using Karin's taxonomy for describing the man.

Matsumoto's reason for being here had been incurred by a combination of Hinamori Momo, Byakuga Kuchiki, Renji Abarai, and 1st Division captain/leader of the Gotei 13, Yamamoto. Each individual, save Abarai, had been surprised that it was taking Hitsugaya so long to complete a simple rescue mission, and thus each, in their own way, implored Matsumoto to take flight and locate him. Momo had stated this out of emotion, as she had come to the lieutenant-captain of 10th company once, whenever Aizen of the 5th Division was meeting with Kuchiki. Byakuga, in turn, had been uncharacteristically concerned when he met with Matsumoto, later that same day. He spoke more as a brother and less as a captain, actually bearing a smile at the buxom lieutenant's assurance that she would bring Hitsugaya back, as well as complete his mission. Yamamoto was the final nail in the coffin, so to speak. He officially made it a mission, demanding that Hitsugaya either report to him or come to Seireitei himself. It had been him that authorized Matsumoto to leave, and find one of the more 'stable' commanders.

At this, Toshiro groaned…but he complied. Yamamoto was not one to anger if one could avoid it.

At least Yamamoto had been congenial about it. The aged leader did give Hitsugaya a stern eye and a scolding lecture on how reckless he had been, but the information had been appreciated. In return, Yamamoto promised not to tell any of the other captains, save two: Byakuga Kuchiki, who inadvertently caught the snow-haired Soul Reaper into this mess with his favor, and Soi Fon, who happened to be in the room at the time, requesting a search for some of her missing Soul Reapers.

Toshiro had a faint idea where those reapers were.

_"The fact that I can kill you in that flesh suit right now burns me like the light of God. I wanted to fight a captain…in hope that the eight other Soul Reapers I've killed…were not a waste."_

He did not voice his opinion.

In the end, he was left in charge, as Yamamoto felt he was more than capable of handling himself. Even crippled from his lack of abilities, his sense of authority had by no means diminished. With the Soul Reapers allotted to him (Matsumoto ensuring that Ayasegawa and Madarame obeyed) he set up a possible way to deal with the matter at hand.

The first order of business was trying to find the Seven-Sealed Devil, and finding out thus why the crap a mortal would go chasing Soul Reapers: This automatically meant he was spiritually aware, and while that _should've _meant that it would be easier to pinpoint him…several factors unaccounted for quickly swarmed Toshiro's mind as he thought it over. For starters, on both occasions that The Devil came for him, it was pitch black night. A day search may result in nothing, unless they found his day job. Waiting for him to come himself would only put Hitsugaya in the same predicament he was in before, and it was only at Matsumoto's timely arrival that he and Karin survived. Also, the Devil, who gave his name in the last encounter, should've been labeled a foreigner, by both his surname as well as his diction. But darned if that couldn't also be a lie as well. Third…in the way of the spiritually aware…there seemed to be far more of them than the numbers would suggest.

This, as Toshiro would learn later, was because of Ichigo Kurosaki, whose spiritual power was so massive-a combination of Rukia's powers and his own inherent sixth sense-that it leaked everywhere. It amazed the little captain that a hollow had not come recently to eat the orange-haired imbecile's soul, but even with this unexpected reprieve, there was a problem with Ichigo's spiritual pressure. Though no one could feel it themselves, Ichigo was unwittingly contaminating almost everyone that he stayed in contact with for a long period of time. The fact that Sado Yatusora and Orihime Inoue-two friends of Ichigo who until a month or two hadn't the foggiest that hollows existed-proved this point, though, for now, Hitsugaya kept his mouth shut. It would not do to anger Ichigo anymore than necessary, after his accusations of "trying to court his sister".

However, he had neglected, in his search parties, to advocate someone to guard himself. The fact that he had been targeted twice and settled as a bounty did not go unnoticed by Madarame, Ayasegawa, or Matsumoto. It was the latter, the ever-loyal second-in-command and parental mentor, that advocated the supply of a bodyguard: One of the soul reapers (Yamada was excluded on the account of his "kidnapping") would follow Hitsugaya around for the day, if the chance that the marred 'Devil' should arrive and renew his attack. Toshiro had been against it, but Matsumoto chimed in with "Oh, captain! Think of how Karin would feel if you were hurt again!" to which incurred a rather expletive-laced retort and a blushing scowl. In the end, he was outnumbered three to one, as he, like a king on a chess board, needed all the other pieces on his side to guard him, the command center.

He didn't have to like this powerlessness. In fact, it only dug deep into his gigai and his mentality, as hooks into meat.

The day came and went, with the routine starting on the following day: That of July 4th. It fell to Yumichika to watch over Toshiro for the day, with Matsumoto, Madarame, and the rescued Yamada to search out the city for the dapper psychopath. They went in gigais; Ayasegawa went in his Soul Reaper form. It was also on this day that Toshiro was allowed entry to school, despite Isshin loading rolls of gauze the size of toilet paper rolls and antibiotic creams more befitting to be inside a syringe into his backpack.

Needless to say, he did not know how to deal with the dumbed-down school, with either the cold indifference he held to every stranger, or exasperation from the boring subjects inserted to him. His age aside and his own genius mentioned (and he wasn't even about to touch on his experience at the academy), his own means of concern was Karin Kurosaki, and the perplexity she was establishing in front of his eyes. He had known Karin for some time, and all ready he could read some of her mannerisms. Yet she seemed…hot under the collar, for lack of a better idiom (Not in the hot-_hot_ way). Maybe it was that the summer heat was grilling up, but by all things reasonable she seemed more bothered inwardly than outwardly. As he took his seat behind her, enduring the stares of all the girls save two (He should've guessed that white hair was unnatural) he found himself with his eyes trained on her. The subjects bored him immensely in its indolent ease, and thus the raven-haired Kurosaki girl possessed completely in his mind.

Whether that was a good thing or not, Toshiro did not know. His eyes became ingrained on the back of her head, and he spaced on that several times, before the recess bell caught him.

The day passed as soon as it came, and soon he, Karin, and the invisible Ayasegawa departed, venturing back to the vacant lot which they met formally for the first time. Yuzu had chosen to remain after school in some sort of extracurricular activity, and so they left together and alone. The Soul Reaper without his talents, the girl with burgeoning psychic powers, and the narcissus with his own fawning attractions.

The lot was empty, dried by the powerful sun, and it was obvious to Karin that she wanted to play. Thus, it was obvious to Hitsugaya that Kurosaki wanted _him_ as her partner.

"No." The ice-cold Soul Reaper responded.

"C'mon!" Karin shouted. The indignation, combined with the desire for levity, compelled her much like his own curiosity. Toshiro vaguely wondered if she had already forgotten her own harrowing experience. Maybe she did remember, but she chose to ignore it, as they was nothing she could do.

One thing he _knew _was that he never wanted to be the object of her anger. The result of Ichigo Kurosaki, who could get angry at anyone _but _his little sisters, taught him that.

"I said no. Besides…I don't know how the game is played."

"Its not that hard! Aren't ya a genius or something?"

"Its pointless."

"Shiro-Chan! You wouldn't of followed me home if you didn't."

"I live in the same house as you. Your home is my home."

Karin dug her foot in the sod, wary that in a bout of wits, Toshiro would win every single time. The fact he survived on his own without his powers against the nutcase revealed his prodigious genius. However, she was a creature of impulse…like a hedonist in her own right, she found pleasure in sports. A wolf was always hunger, whence give a taste of the delicious meat, Toshiro reasoned. Likewise, Karin the small was a giant wolf.

"How 'bout your stalker?" Karin pointed, finding a quick alternative. Toshiro felt his eyebrow rise in response.

"What about Yumichika?"

"Can't he play?"

The 10th division captain had to stifle a laugh for his own ego. He did not know Ayasegawa as well as say, Madarame, but he knew the man was for his looks before anything else. A pointless exercise that may result in his face being dirtied would spurn his attention immediately.

"He wouldn't want to play."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if he _can _play."

"…what do you…"

"Hey! Pretty boy!"

Toshiro looked, with further confusion eyeballed the man-Ayaesgawa-whom she was trying to obtain the attention of. Fawning himself obsessively over a mirror that he had procured, Toshiro had sincere doubts as to whether or not he would acquiesce to her demand. It was one thing to bully him: It was another to try that on a self-absorbed man. Gaining his attention was the easier part, anyway, and so Ayasegawa turned an eye to the raven-haired girl.

"Hmm?"

"Come on down here!" Ayasegawa raised an eyebrow at her request.

"Why?"

"I need someone to play with. Its pointless to kick the ball by myself."

"…Can't you do it Captain?" Yumichika called out from his place on the stands.

"…I'm not interested. You do it."

Yumichika balked at his stern response. "But I don't wanna get dirty! And its so hot…"

"Ayasegawa. If I have to come up there-"

"But-but-but Ran-chan wanted you to be protected. How can I protect you if I'm busy dirtying my kimono with this girl?"

"……" Toshiro found no words to say. He could not argue with the logic of the feminine Soul Reaper, and if Matsumoto had been that concerned enough…

"Looks like you're stuck with me?"

"Don't you have homework to do, or something?" Toshiro tried again, a new tactic to divert her from the matter at hand. It was a useless ploy, in the end: A dog remained with its teeth on its toy, ever ignoring their surroundings. Karin was no different.

"Ah, c'mon! I didn't see you paying attention in class!"

"You were sitting _in front _of me. How could you-" Toshiro caught himself, sighing again. "I'm much older than I appear Karin. Most of that stuff is common knowledge to me. Not so to you."

Karin stood there still, a fierce painting plastered on her countenance, and Toshiro again found himself in keener observation than expected, much keener than he did when he first came to study the Kurosaki household. His eyes mysteriously traced the lines in her sable locks, and her face…the dynamics of emotion always seemed to portray the heat of combativeness…as if she could never afford cowardice or weakness…so much different than-

"Shiro-Chan? You're spacing out on me."

"Oh." _Crap. Busted. _Toshiro felt another exasperated huff accumulating in his mouth. "All right. If I play this game with that ball of yours…lets do a quid pro quo. I play a game with you, of your choosing, and you play one with me."

"What games do you know?" The surprise that he would think to conjure a game on his own did not elude her voice or his ears.

"Some. I wasn't always this serious, after all." Hitsugaya admitted. "Is it a bargain?"

Karin mock-thought about it, exaggerating a thinking pose, and tapping her lovely (did he think lovely?) head with her knuckles when she finished. She dusted of her cotton shirt with resolution of a white revolution, and she nodded excitedly. "Okay! I'll beat you butt in this, and then I'll beat you at whatever you choose when we get home! But now, lets play!"

Toshiro turned his eyes from her to the ball being produced from her bag, and then back to her deepening eyes. "What're the rules?"

"You mean you don't know?"

"You kicked my head off last time. I kinda didn't get a chance to study."

Karin smiled at the humor, forcing Toshiro to scowl, as she held out the black-and-white patterned ball. "This is football. The rules are pretty simple-"

As Toshiro would learn, the game was by no means simple.

--

Karin Kurosaki was extremely uncomfortable, and had been ever since last night. However, as she was sure Toshiro had noticed, it was not her white-haired guest that caused her discomfort. The game was merely a tool to relieve that discomfort from her body, as well as put a smile on both of their faces (not that she cared if she saw him smile, but…he had looked like he'd been in the dumps for quite some time.)

Of course, she had been bothered by the encounter. Of course she found it wrong. But she really couldn't do much at the moment, right now, with the dandy out of sight and the Soul Reapers-her brother included-looking out for them both.

Of course Ichigo didn't take it well. An understatement, perhaps, but he really went off the deep end with the matter at hand. The relationship between Toshiro and her brother degenerated in a single night, even though she herself told Ichigo forcefully that she had been the one that wanted to go to the carnival. She had only dragged Toshiro along…and admittedly she had enjoyed herself.

Unfortunately, Ichigo's perception was quite skewed when it came to herself and Yuzu, Karin realized. Everything that happened Ichigo had dumped on Hitsugaya's feet, blaming how he should've been able to protect her (which he did successfully, up until the arrival of Ichigo and the big-chested woman). What infuriated the orange-haired dolt was that she stayed and actually involved herself in the affair, putting her own life in danger.

A thought came up, one that appeared conflicting, as she faced down "Shiro-chan", kicking the ball around as she automatically explained the rules of the game. The dandy-Janus Bloodsworth, if the name was right-had virtually no spiritual pressure: she was able to sense the multiple, ugly monsters that from time to time plagued the area, and each had a very distinct feeling. The feeling of nails on chalkboard combined with shaving one's head with a can opener…this was a poor description, but Karin could recognize the feeling every time it came. Curdling her stomach and ringing her brain, it was incapacitating to deal with.

But while Karin had felt this before, when dealing with the invisible monsters that only a few could see…the man appeared as normal as any elder man she had seen. Though an apparent foreigner, he held very little aura within him…as if he reached the minimum level required to enter in their 'class' of super powered psychics, and stopped there. It was a man of flesh and blood, but Karin still wondered…could he be a vampire or some other sort of monster that hid with a humane appearance?

The dandy had not been Toshiro's fault. There was no way he could've expected it, with the pre-programmed belief that the nut job was dead. Yet not only did he stroll in front of them, acting as if nothing had happened before, the man called Bloodsworth acted as if he _never met Toshiro_. And she had seen him on that-

_Okay. That's enough of that. I'm going to blow a gasket and act like that idiot if I keep this up. Man, I need to kick that ball!_

Karin was never one of over thinking a situation. Impulse was her creed. Action was her creed. Emotions would slow her down only considerably.

Toshiro glanced around at the vacant lot, at the nets that held the area together at polar opposites, before turning his attention to Karin and pulling her out of her reverie.

"So, that's the gist of the game? Score with the ball, using anything but your hands?"

"Uh…yeah." Her eyes caught him as the white-haired boy turned around, looking back at the nets. Once again, he was borrowing clothes from a younger Ichigo, a fact which only drove a further wedge into their relationship, if one could call it that. A pair of khakis and a dress-up button down shirt of blue, Karin shook her head, as he had absolutely no fashion sense…but still, he did look-

_Oh no. I am SO not thinking that._

"Hey, Shiro-Chan."

"My _name _is Hitsugaya."

"Why do you want everyone to call you that? Ichigo does fine callin' ya shrimp!"

A vein pulsed on his forehead, as he turned to answer. "I told you I'm a captain, back in my home. I earned that rank. People should refer to me by my rank."

"I'm not from your place, Shiro-Chan!-"

_"Its _Hitsugaya!"

"…I'm going to call you what I'd like. I know you as To-shi-Ro. Not _Captain _Toshiro Hitsugaya." At this, as if channeling Davy Jones from _Pirates of the Caribbean_, She sauntered around the dour, and fuming, white-haired boy, taking grandiose steps and swinging her arms in exaggerated fashion, as if to imitate and emphasis the perceived narcissism in always wanting to be called by his title.

_"…_fine, fine…" Toshiro conceded, perhaps surrendering as a way to cure his own embarrassment. "Just…lets do this."

Karin smiled, a mirror to Toshiro's frown, and she kicked off.

Toshiro's inexperience was obvious at first, and Karin had to smile at the fact that he underestimated her. Of course the game concepts were simple, but the action itself was much harder, and more enjoyable. Karin easily huffed past Toshiro, who was flat-footed from the start of the one-on-one game, and effortlessly scored two goals on him, the inert net gaining its elasticity with the forcefulness of her kicks. Toshiro seemed a bit more methodical with his learning process, trying to combine his thoughts with his actions, but it cost him: Karin yoinked the ball from his possession each time he slowed down, providing him with a scowl and a shout. Karin answered back with a raspberry.

However, as their sneakers mowed over the grass, and the sun continued to bear down upon them, Karin felt that underestimation was hers. Toshiro, who at first was floundering in comparison to her own prodigious skills, was learning how she act: He was beginning to predict her advances each time he obtained the ball, and thus prepared counteractive measures for each attempt to steal the ball. In addition, he was incorporating agility into his moves as he became more and more familiar with the game. However, as Karin could see from the sweat accumulating from his forehead, it was tiring him out.

_I guess he did lose his powers hard after all. Ha!_

Karin stole the ball from him again, taking advantage of his fatigue. He turned around to catch sight of her nailing another goal, and his grimace was more than obvious to her.

"That's five-to-two, Shiro-Chan! Just two more and I got you!"

"Yeah." Toshiro lamely finished.

"Don't you work out?" Karin asked him.

"I'm a Soul Reaper, Karin. I don't usually interact with the living world: The gigai is a loaner." Toshiro responded, looking to the side as if bored on unconcerned with the question. "Why do you ask?"

"I just don't want you blaming something else for me kicking your butt."

"……Just kick the ball, Kurosaki."

She obliged.

Toshiro's face became more and more an icy mask of calculation as he jousted with her. Determination set in quickly, and like a fungus spread through his core to his body. Karin couldn't help but enjoy this, as she ran adjacent and opposite of him, the ball at the tip of her foot as she ran to the net.

She reared her foot back to kick as she neared the goal net, but surprise was handed to her with subtly, as the 'child prodigy' snuck in, snagged in while she was in mid-swing, and rounded behind her as she finished the empty kick.

"Hey!"

"Got you."

Toshiro quickly settled another goal for him, and again, he passed the ball to her.

"Just four for me, and _I got you_." Toshiro confidently announced, a classy smirk on his face. Karin could match his smile. It was obvious, all previous boredom and lack of interest aside, he was enjoying himself.

"Not if I can help it, Shiro-Chan!"

Their jousts for the ball continued in swift choreography, with unpredictability seasoned into their actions. Karin noticed how much more increasingly difficult the game was becoming, which her employing newer and innovated-on-the-spot tricks to seize the ball from a more guarded 'Shiro-Chan'. He was increasing his speed, and shocked her even when he jumped to the air, with ball clutched in his legs, as she tried vainly to take the ball from him. However, Karin was not without her own observation: His arms heaved sluggishly as he advanced, and eventually he simply placed them in his pockets as they stole and regained the ball from one another.

Eventually, despite his fatigue, Toshiro acquired two more straight goals, each time employing unusual tricks to do so. Once, he forced the trajectory of the ball to bounce from the pole into the net, baiting Karin away when it looked like he was kicking it out of bounds. The other time, he slide under her legs, kicked it into the air, and head butted it straight into the net as he stood up. He had turned to taunt her, but the raven-haired girl became a bright shade of red, for reasons he could not obtain.

Karin was just surprised as heck that he would actually slide under her.

"Do you need some sunscreen, Karin? Your face is red."

"S-Shut up! I don't need it!"

"Then why is your-"

Toshiro didn't get a chance to finish. Karin already got the ball in her hands and motioned with her own grimace to the field.

_Oh c'mon…he only just…I'm kill him!_

Needless to say…Toshiro did not stand a chance. A competitive Karin was one thing, but an angry Karin was another. His efforts to stall her fell before her like a brick wall before a bulldozer. Combined with his fatigue, she effortlessly acquired the last two goals, but that he could deal with. It was merely a game after all.

What Karin could not resist was clubbing the peeping tom in the head with the rotund football.

Even the self-absorbed Ayasegawa had to flinch on that.

--

After picking himself up from the ground from Karin's preemptive strike, Hitsugaya had remembered the deal: Even though he had lost, and lost because he had irritated the heavens out of a little, 11-year old spitfire for goodness knows what reason, he took it much better than she could've expected. The blow to his head from the speeding ball was not so much, with an emblem of that ball still notable on his gravity-defying hair.

He had let it pass fairly well. Karin suspected that, if there was any anger, he held it in because he would have to answer to the paranoid Ichigo, provided the evidence was there.

For now, Karin merely allowed herself to be lead away, 'Shiro-Chan' leading the trio from the vacant lot, now that the game was done. Ayasegawa trailed behind them invisible to the normal eye, now appraising the beauty of things in their immediate surroundings. Karin herself would occasionally catch snippets of his thoughts aloud, stating such words as "pictures", "beautiful", and "So Young". The raven-haired tomboy had no intrigue in whatever nonsense the narcissus was chattering on about…or the camera which he magically produced…

For now, as she followed Toshiro, she remembered a constant, nagging that she kept getting delayed in presenting.

That darned package that Toshiro had left behind.

The one, now unwrapped, that was pocketed in her backpack.

Due to the dire need of attention and action brought upon by the Seven-Sealed Devil jerk, Karin lost the chance on two occasions to give Toshiro his package back. She had intended to give it after he courteously showed her the carnival two nights ago: The dressed-up sociopath halted that. Therefore, because of her impatience, and his obvious desperation, she unwrapped the parcel from its plastic containments, and she beheld exactly what Toshiro was hiding.

Immediately, she had felt that Toshiro was an addict, or something. There were two objects, both which seemed relatively normal. The first had been a basic tape recorder; Already violating his privacy as she was, Karin didn't dare hit the 'play' button when she say a tape had been placed inside. The second object had been more interesting, and slightly more complicated. It had been a cylinder-shaped tube, ending with a injection-like needle, similar to the meager syringe but larger and more alien. It was full with a glistening grey liquid, as if it were mercury or something, but it had been cold to the touch, as if on the brink of freezing. A piece of paper had encircled the syringe, and a single word had been pasted on the transparent tube: "_Yousenkawa_"

Karin had done nothing but hold onto the items, though she had come close to chucking the syringe at the dandy's broken face in the heat of the moment. Fortunately, she did not have to destroy Toshiro's property, and gratefully, since she got into an argument with Ichigo and he got into it with Matsumoto and the other three dudes, she hid away his stuff.

She had intended to give it to him yesterday also, but school caught her then as well as today. Now, perhaps…she could…

"Where're we going, anyway? This isn't the way back home."

"I know." Toshiro replied quietly. "I played you at your game. Now I have to get mine."

She was about to retort as to why they didn't go home where his stuff would've been, but she remembered that he didn't have anything to begin with. Thus, her trap was silenced before she could stick her kick-happy foot inside it.

The sun remained at a slight high, and the sun continued to bear down. The sweat-drops rolling off Toshiro's back told Karin how he, obviously more akin to the freezing climates, was taking the heat. Cars and their troublesome exhaust fumes, whirring by them on the adjacent streets, only added to the confounding heat. Karin felt the desire for another sport pop into her head-that, to find a pool and swim-but she blushed as she remembered that Toshiro would come regardless…and she had never-

"We're here." came his quiet response. Karin looked up.

"I thought you said you were going to get a game!"

"I did."

"This is a candy store!"

"I know that." Toshiro responded, a scowl of agitation forming on his face.

"Besides, the store owner's crazy."

"Trust me. I know that _intimately_." the polar boy finished incompletely, making Karin want to ask more…but he did not look to continue. "Wait outside."

Karin raised her eye brows, threatening to disappear into the black abyss that was her hair, before her eyes followed his figure, his dirtied figure, into the candy store. She had been by here many times, as her father habitually came by, and Yuzu also frequented the place. Her golden-haired twin had mentioned to Karin once before that she had befriended a pair of kids about her age here: A red-haired boy named Jinta and a pigtailed girl named Ururu. Neither of them, however, were outside at the time. Instead, a very large, very intimidating man in glasses and a brown apron stood outside, quietly sweeping the dust from the doorway while humming a tune to himself. Karin could feel her eyes bug out as she checked out the ridiculous proportions of the mustachioed man, but he himself only waved, before resuming his sweeping.

Yumichika, who remained otherwise quiescent himself, only chuckled for no apparent reason.

And then…

"_DAMN IT URAHARA! I AM NOT LIKE THAT!! JUST GIVE ME THE SHOGI BOARD!!_"

Some silence, accented by Karin's befuddlement, as she recognized the voice of the shouter. Then…

"_I'm GIVING YOU THE PAY! NO, I do NOT WANT TO BUY A DRESS FOR HER! NOW SHUT UP!"_

The door, as if burdened by the testosterone-laden strength of the raging captain, fell open, ominously, and from with, the next bit of dialogue could be heard to those who strained their ears.

"But I heard from Rukia you're living under the same roof. I have this nice dress I just got from out in the Society-"

"_I AM NOT HER BOYFRIEND!"_

"Then…tell me, little captain, why you so vehemently deny it, with the _same_ passion reserved for the lovers?"

Silence. The giant man in the apron halted his work, and politely closed the door. A few more minutes, rounded to five passed, and Toshiro stepped outside, a parcel hooked under his arm, and a reddening on his face that could not be attributed to sunburn.

When he reached Karin, ignoring the polite "Have a good day, Captain Hitsugaya" that came from the giant caretaker, his face scrunched up in bemusement. "Why are you blushing?"

Karin's quick tongue was limp as a beheaded serpent, but she recovered herself, and remembered something else. "He's a friend of yours?"

"Urahara?" Came the reply, venom lacing it as he spoke. "No. Urahara is a hand in need, but not a friend. I can't stand him."

"Why's that?"

"He's too darn happy."

"Maybe if you smiled once in a-"

"I have today." Toshiro responded. He presented the box to Karin, which as expected, was a shogi game. "I got mine. I'll play you at your house."

"Our house, you mean." Karin smirked. Toshiro restrained himself from exploding, but Karin tried a new tact. "Oh, by the way, I got you package you left behind."

"I don't have a package other than this one." Toshiro defended, his face shaking in his interest. The raven-haired girl only pulled off her backpack, and pulled out the cylinder with the metal-colored liquid.

"You mean this isn't yours? I found it on the night you came here."

At first he did not notice, more wanting to leave, to go to his surrogate home, to hear from Matsumoto and see if they had found the sharp-dressed man. Alas, that was not the case, as Karin grabbed on his arm. His instinctive response was to back the cylinder blindly away, hitting the pusher slightly and making it depress. However, this caused the tube to jerk forward, and due to the closeness of the object to Karin's arms, the needle-like end pierced briefly into her skin, into her veins, carrying just a small tidbit of the liquid.

"Ow! Darn it Toshiro, what was that-I was only-Look over here!"

Another hand grabbed his shoulders, and twirled him around to where they were face to face, and practically nose to nose. Toshiro's face was set in a frigid scowl unbothered by the withering heat, while Karin's face was all the more hotter and furious.

"What. Is. It?" Toshiro remarked, apparently coldly annoyed.

"This's yours!" Karin shouted back, shoving the tube under his nose. The 10th division captain gave it a single glance, curiosity besieged by irritation, and he formed a curt response.

"That's not mine."

"It was! I found it with you on the doorstep when you were knocked out. You know, when you first lost your powers?"

Recognition flashed into Toshiro's face, and a look of surprise hit him, making him look a lot cuter (she subconsciously noted) than she would audibly say.

"I didn't have anything with me…that must be…"

His words descended into actions. Without a word but with determination renewed, he grabbed her hand, and jerked her forward, forgetting the shogi board in the process, all in a race to get home yet without a purpose for getting there at all. Karin wanted to shout at him, but her arm felt like it was burning, and so she kept silent…the burning seemed to start with the needlepoint…but that didn't make any sense…

"Shiro-Chan! Hold your horses! You forgot your board!"

"Ayasegawa will get it."

"What's your rush?"

"…I just got an idea."

Karin wanted to retort, but she couldn't. She was getting embarrassed by all the looks passersby were giving them.

Meanwhile, as they sped off, Yumichika smiled enigmatically, as he surveyed the damage left in his wake.

"Hmm. Ran-chan will love to hear about this…Its about time Hitsugaya lightened up…"

Yumichika curtailed his complaints for once, and dragged the shogi board behind them, as if by an invisible hand.

Kisuke Urahara, having not seen any of the spectacle, could only smile, and giggle, and packed the dress he had so generously offered.

--

End Chapter.


	7. Chapter 7: Emissary

Thank you kindly for the reviews so far. I appreciate all which is said to me…and I am grateful that I am hitting a splendid showing with this.

To Blue Bragon-if you could kindly point out to me what I'm doing wrong, I would be more than happy to correct my mistakes. Spanish is something I am familiar with but by no means a pro. So please…let me know.

Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH!. That is Tite Kubo's work of art.

And so, the story continues…

_**Chapter 7: Emissary**_

_**August 4**__**th**__**, Late night…**_

No talk. No thought. Just Action. Just for real. That was Karin Kurosaki's mindset 24/7. Despite what would be expected sociologically proper of genders, Karin cared less for the soft, slow, thoughts-on procedure that favored the mothering matriarchs and proper little ladies. To date, Karin, as if the ultimate rebel to society, had only worn a dress once (that being at her mother's funeral). Every other time she held herself to a rather boyish allure, denying her feminist urgings for a toughness that could be consolidated in American boxing, American Football, and one of her favorite games: "Rock'em Sock'em Robots". In many cases, that toughness proved flexible enough to handle whatever problem came her way, be it confrontations with older, middle-schoolers, her overprotective brother, or helping her gentler sister.

However, as she could see, across the board, a hand rubbing her forearm automatically, maybe cognition could be a handy tools…at times. Karin could not shake the agitation from the accidental puncture on her arm, as it continued to burn silently from its miniscule hole. A mosquito on her flesh, she tried her earnest to ignore the flaming sensation, as Toshiro sat across from her, his mind working on some web that he portrayed his intellect. Perhaps this was his way of winding down, but the raven-haired twin worked her hardest to avoid showing her boredom.

As she caught his face with her eyes, she could see he reflected that boredom, albeit a different root to it. The elementary school books laid out in front of him, a result of her haggling and her daddy's insane barging in.

The Shogi game laid in front of her, completed after no less than thirty minutes, the pieces frozen on the board in the final move. Toshiro Hitugaya may have lost his powers, but under no circumstance had he lost his mind. Karin could not hide her initial grimace, a frown occupied with the throes of defeat, with her result. She could not play contests of intense strategy, much like what her white-haired housemate portrayed in spades. The prediction of the opponent's moves at each turn, and then countering at each impasse with one's own attack method, was not a tactic she was used to, except in a rigorous flow…football was a realm of constant, swirling, maddening action, one that she was so comfortable in that she could make her strategic decisions without thinking too long on it. But Shogi…shogi required a tick-tock breakage between each move. As a game, it did not move chaotically all at once. It happened in ordered rungs, like pieces of a ladder, and this by itself handicapped her. To have to stop, then start again over and over tripped her thought process on each fold.

It did not take much effort on the wilier boy to confound and trap Karin on the edge of the board. Surrender was not in her mentality, and so, with a cold calculation more appropriate of a machine than an eleven-year old boy, Toshiro jumped for the jugular.

Karin could only furrow her brow at the realization, her face red with incense and her arm still flaring with a candle-flame irritation. However, she did not say any thing to Toshiro, who had occupied his mind with his Soul Reaper duties. By now the guard had also changed: Yumichika had left, to rejoin with Madarame and Yamada. On the other hand, Rangiku Matsumoto had rejoined them, currently hiding in shelter from any would-be psychics in the room of the twins. For one reason or another, Karin could see a rather auspicious and utterly suspicious look on her youthful face, as if she saw something to cover her palette, and yet simultaneously hiding that thought. It was hard for her to swallow that Toshiro actually was her superior, but it didn't surprise her with consideration to Ichigo. Her brother seemed rather…flustered when in her vicinity.

Speaking of her brother…

Karin looked at who was assembled in her room, as she tried to pass on the eccentric situation as normal. When you can see ghosts since you became able to remember clearly, that is weird. When you have a collection of spirit bound soldiers hunched into your room for a powwow, and your houseguest is the one running the show for the whole affair…well, that's your little slice of Wonderland and the weird.

Karin subconsciously ran a hand over her forearm, the burning still affecting her, as she briefly cast a look over everyone in the room:

Toshiro, in front of her, sitting cross-legged with one of his books cradled in his lap: A look mixed with scorn and apathy melded his features, as if he truly had neither a goal or an interest in the subject matter. He had already changed into his borrowed orange-carrot pajamas, and a flush of embarrassment forged itself into his face, as if internally wondering why the heck he didn't call this meeting _before _he changed.

Matsumoto, sitting away on Yuzu's bed, talked on her 'cellphone', animatedly speaking to Renji, and occasionally handing it to the dark-haired girl beside her. Positive energy and raw emotion seemed to frequent her face, and candor seemed to radiate off her rather…feminine appearance. (Karin wondered briefly how her daddy would react if he saw Matsumoto…ugh).

Rukia Kuchiki sat next to the strawberry blonde, wearing the school uniform of the Karakura middle school. Rukia was by no means a stranger: she had first seen her on her mother's anniversary, and since then she had seen the demure girl in the company of Ichigo, often walking with him home with Asano and Kojima. However, the fact that she 1) _lived _in Ichigo's closet, 2) was a soul reaper herself, and 3) was demure towards everyone _but _Ichi-nii, made her smile, cringe, and frown. She had wondered why occasionally her orange-haired brother would walk around holding his nether-regions, speaking in a higher octave and asking Yuzu for an icepack as he hobbled around. Currently, Rukia seemed nice enough, despite the commodity to hide herself from Yuzu and her daddy. Karin however, couldn't help but smirk at how effortlessly Rukia kept her brother in line. Someone needed to be his realist.

Which brought her to Ichigo himself, sitting in a identical stance to _The_ _Thinker_. His posture would be more than amusing if his eyes didn't pierce like a monster. It was obvious why he was so tense, so coiled to spring, when one traced his line of vision…to unsuspecting Toshiro, oblivious to the pair of eyes boring into him. Karin wanted to sigh at the whole affair, for it seemed ridiculous beyond statement. Again, it was a boon to have one with such tunnel-vision and perseverance towards the protection of whatever he designated protecting. It had been like his own _bushido_, Karin reasoned, since he was her age and younger. But what he designated as protection-such as hiding certain facts and running himself ragged over minute things-could also cloud his actions. He had a habit of becoming a nuisance without his realization.

Toshiro knew better than anyone, so far. Ichigo was fuming still over the episode at the carnival, not merely with the man in the tuxedo, but also with the fact they were out _without _a chaperone.

The orange-haired lug was not alone in his anger. Fury was fury, no matter the variable. Karin had received her own little taste, with all these revelations thrown at her feet.

"…Why are you staring at me?"

Karin opened her eyes in surprise. Sure enough, her gaze had been fixed on Toshiro, who had looked up from his elementary book with an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

"Uh…uh…"

"….." Toshiro's face almost resembled amusement, before he turned with an answer. "Fine. Don't tell me. Matsumoto!"

"Yes, Captain?" The bubbly, buxom blonde replied.

"Have you found out why Abarai isn't back?"

"Well, Captain, he can't really say. He said it was top secret…Captain Aizen asked a favor of him to stay."

"For what?"

"…He just won't say!" The fact that she was smiling in spite of the news struck Karin as odd, but odd in a good way.

"Get Rukia to talk to him." Toshiro ordered, his voice practically accustomed to authority.

Rukia at this point raised an eyebrow at the statement. "What kind of solution is that?"

"He folds like a chair anytime you ask him anything. Talk to him. He'll squeal."

The partially-demure school-girl shrugged in his persistence, and took the handed phone from Matsumoto.

Ichigo only continued to stare a hole into Toshiro, and finally Toshiro himself took notice.

"Do you have a problem with me, Kurosaki?" Toshiro asked, not bothering to meet Ichigo's tense leer.

"You talking to me?"

"You've been staring at me ever since you got in the room."

"So?"

"If you got something to say, I suggest you say it. Otherwise, stop staring."

Ichigo ignored him, not inching from his position.

"Matsumoto, report the areas your group has checked."

The bouncy (no pun intended) Soul Reaper gave a mock salute, forcing a forehead fissure at the young captain. "Well, Captain…I did check out the…oh, was it Kinogaya or Komatsu…I think I checked out Kinogaya most of the day, but Hanataro and Ikkaku had better time than I did."

"…What are you-"

"Well…without any sightings from this weirdo you're talking about…I kinda got…bored."

"Matsumoto…" Toshiro muttered almost incoherently, his voice grating with a rehearsed annoyance.

"Well, Hanataro decided to take my slot, and I went to go see if this man was in the-"

"You visited the bars, didn't you?" Toshiro muttered with clairvoyant knowing. Matsumoto shamelessly shrugged, a smile beginning to break her pretty face.

"Well…Hanataro did seem adamant to avoid those girls in that district-"

"You _blackmailed _the poor boy didn't you?"

Matsumoto did not need to finish. The lack of an answer, combined with a hearty, mischievous smile, told Toshiro all he needed to know. He gave an exasperated sigh.

"If I find out he's on the news tomorrow-"

"Don't worry about that! I brought him his gigai for such a-"

Toshiro cut himself off, to descend into a groan.

It was at this point Ichigo intervened. "She's your lieutenant?"

Noting the possible disrespect that could be interpreted, Rukia quickly slapped the tar out of the orange-haired adolescent's head. It was effective in shutting him up.

"…At lease tomorrow, we should be able to cover more ground. The lunatic had been cut up pretty bad. Even with those feet, he couldn't have gone very far."

"And you believe that because-" Rukia trailed off.

"I assumed his speed was similar to _shun-po_. Its worse for him, as he's not dead, but, if he forces himself to work that fast…he'll bleed faster." The youngest captain then produced a piece of paper from his the ground, and after bumming off a pencil, began a rookie's cartography.

"Here is Karakura District-"

"That drawing sucks, Shiro-Chan."

"It's the best I can do. And its _Hitsugaya_."

"Oh! How long has Karin been calling you that?"

"Shut up, Matsumoto." The by-now flustered captain remarked, trying to deflect attention back to the attempted map. "Karin and I had been in the Mashiba area when he went to the carnival-"

"What were you going with my sister at that-OW!"

"Thank you, Karin." Toshrio stated plainly. "Anyway, _without further interruption_…Karin and I had been in Mashiba when we went to that carnival. It was there that we ran into Bloodswerth. Therefore," Toshiro grandly finished, circling the large portion of white space that represented Mashiba. "Its likely he would still be in there. Also, it is best that the surrounding areas be checked: Tsubakidai, Karakura-Hon-Ghou, Kasazaki, Sakura-Bashi, and Komatsu. Matsumoto has already checked out Kinogaya…so that is irrelevant."

"Hold on da minute." Ichigo halted again, making Toshiro close to forming a aneurism in his agitation. "Why exactly do you want to find this guy again?"

"I want my powers back," Toshiro responded simply. "Miss Kuchiki has informed me how she has lost hers, due to your massive spiritual pressure swallowing it up. Hers can be easily repaired, given time, and a visit to the Soul Society. The 4th division is quite good at that. My case is a little different, Kurosaki, however. No one has every manually shoved a Soul Reaper so far beyond his limits, and especially a captain. So, I want to find out how he did it, even bypassing my Gentei Kaijo."

"…Uh…" Karin started in. "Are you gonna explain that?"

"Later, alright." Toshiro responded. "Anyway, its obvious this man, despite what he is saying and the fact his memory leaves him…is deliberately targeting me. Once could have been incidental, and what he said easily corroborates with a random attack. The second time, however, he tracked me down, and asked me to duel him again, refusing to take no for an answer."

"And how does that involve me?" Ichigo responded. Again, Rukia chastised him by slapping him upside the head.

"It involves you because it might involve Karin. The bastard saw her with me. He knows where you live anyway. He might try to use her to get to me, but…I'm not sure. That's of course assuming he's alive."

"So, you made my lil'sister a target to a psycho?"

"Not deliberately. Drop it. What's done is done. But perhaps you should realize something, Kurosaki."

"What's that?"

"This man is as human and alive as you are." Toshiro explained. "He isn't a Soul Reaper like us. His lack of a spiritual pressure or _zan-pakuto_ is proof of that. Whatever this guy is, knocking him out is not going to be enough. This man _wants _an opponent that can kill him. I stabbed him in the heart and he still forced himself on, remember?" Toshiro then leaned back, unaware of the confused girl sitting behind him. His hair came into close contact briefly, and Karin could for a time only think of how a kid (like herself) could taunt a hungry predator. Her brother was that predator.

"Are you willing to kill someone?" Toshiro asked seriously.

Whether he was serious or just looking for a tool to get Ichigo off his back, Karin did not know. But it did shut her orange-haired brother up. He did not ask if he could, but if he was willing: That struck a nervous chord in her brother, just by the scrunching of his face. The question was left unanswered, as Ichigo continued to resume his thinking pose, and Rukia gave a rather meaningful look.

"In any case," Toshiro resumed. "We may be able to blackmail Janus Bloodswerth. This brings me to the reason you are here, Karin."

"This is my room!"

"…So?"

"If you were that darned needy for secrecy, why didn't you use Ichigo's?"

"Because your father and sister have habits of sticking their ears on the doors." Toshiro pointed out. Karin couldn't argue with that. "Especially with their 'delinquent' son. Your father believes we're studying together, remember?"

"Hey!" came the inevitable response from Ichigo.

"Also, Karin…you still have it."

"What?"

"The tape recorder?"

"Oh, yeah!" Karin remembered instantly, with the pains again jarring her arm as she reached for it. The flinch did not go unnoticed despite her attempt to exaggerate the movements, as the youngest captain's teal eyes captured her interest with a knowing, steely concern. Without much verbal exchange, Karin plucked the small recorder from her backpack, and chucked it to Toshiro, who in turn handed it to Matsumoto. However, his eyes did not leave hers.

"When we're done…" Toshiro trailed off in a whisper. Karin nodded, but hid her arm. She had not explained the syringe to anyone, or the fact that some of the liquid had gotten inside of her apparently. The last thing she wanted was to explain how an alien substance got into her arm to her brother, _and _the fact that Shiro-Chan was involved. Again.

_Daddy says we're attached to the hip. Heh. That's not true…is it?_

"Matsumoto, I want you to play that, and take notes. I don't have a clue what its about, but given that it was on Bloodswerth's hands, it will be important."

"I'm on it, captain."

"Play it."

The silent order belied its potency, but the buxom lieutenant followed through. A manicured finger pressed gently on the button, evoking a prelude of static. All went silent, as the static broke to an educated, intelligent, and cold voice that certainly lacked the emotional apathy of the Seven-Sealed Devil.

_"Is this on? Takumi, that is not…oh thank you. Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori speaking. Log for today, June 25__th__. Performing a medical biopsy of the creatures. I do this for some aid of my fellows, who will be on the field shortly. It is in my candor to admit I would like to study a Soul Reaper on the table, but alas…they are so hard to keep alive. Janus, you keep insisting on killing them in duels. Oh well. That's your belief._

_"We have been collecting Hollows recently…they are most remarkable creatures, as I must admit for being a taxonomist. These beings…the natives of this district…what was it again, Takumi? Karakura? Ah yes, Karakura…few natives can actually see these creatures. A pity. I figure they'd make quite interesting game…but I venture from the study. The tranquilizer used on this hollow is still in effect, but I must be careful. Pay attention, Janus. These are not beasts to be played with. Give them respect, or they will take it from your flesh._

_"Ahem. Anyway. The most 'Hollow'-which I find a very poor name to begin with-is of build similar to the _Panthera _cats genus, but at least twice the size of a regular lion or cougar. If I must compare it to any of the big cats, a blue panther, due to its lack of spots, stripes, or mane, would be the most befitting. However, its mass would indicate at least a heredity of a elephant calf. It has a parabolic dental arcade, similar to the ordinary big cats, but, as the trademark of all 'hollows', the beast possesses a hole approximately where its stomach would be, and a pallid mask to hide its feline face. The mask adds to the aforementioned teeth, giving it a second, false set of incisors and canines (no molars or premolars, for whatever adaptive reason) before it can devour its meal…though I must question why. The forelegs and hind legs are equally proportional to its elephantine bulk, requiring to be gargantuan to support its weight. The claws could be plucked out and used effectively as crude daggers, I figure. The musculature of the beast is obvious, should I open it or not. This is a powerful beast…no doubt about it. The fact that it gorges itself on souls all the more makes my blood run cold._

_"I thank you, Janus for acquiring and neutralizing this particular hollow for study. I pity the Soul Reapers on this, for their seek-and-destroy methods, while minimal in risks, prevent them from learning adaptive, spur-of-the-moment evolutions that could result without their knowing. Killing everything in sight with the same weapon over and over is shortsighted, after all. Bacteria become immune to fatalistic treatments over time: Why wouldn't the Hollows also become immune to a Soul Reaper's _Zan-pakuto_? Alas, this would require more time than is being allowed. Our leader is not one of patience, with his divinations becoming more frequent. No…everything is being set into motion. The primary target has even been identified._

_"Soul Reapers have a lazy taxonomy for their hollows. The fact that these beasts are named hollows is proof of that in the first place. All of these shadow creatures, which at one point were human souls that succumbed to the process of encroachment, have highly varied forms. It is possible that their initial bodies are not based off of adaptive functions, but on Freudian concepts. As it is believed the pallid mask conceals a hollow's 'Id', the mask itself, could be a manifestation of one's ego or superego. However, logic seems to sunder itself here. The 'Id' does fit well with the gluttonous, gratuitous nature of a hollow, and of the bigger hollows, in fact. But if the mask is supposed to…it does not clash to theory. Even more peculiar is the baseness and lack of discrimination of their appetite. Hollows are souls as much as humanic souls-what the Soul Reapers name 'pluses'. Because of this fact, Hollows do not waste time eating their brethren at time. While cannibalism is not unknown in the natural, material world, it is only employed in the most desperate of times. The voraciousness of these soul-eaters makes me curious why you, Janus, can so easily smile as you fights them. I've already lost two orderlies to this particular Hollow myself. But…you are a man of unusual faith._

_"Ahem. This is not an ordinary hollow, all things considered. It is a part of the three-class group called the 'Menos Grande'. The giant hollows have an inverse relationship between size and spiritual pressure…spiritual pressure being the energy of the dead, so pay attention Janus. Menos Grande come in three categories, from weakest/largest to strongest/smallest: Gillian, Adjucha, and Vasto Lords. The Gillian is the weakest, but is far larger than most buildings: its size will prove most troublesome by itself. The adjucha is a medium, and this feline hollow before is one. I will before a surgery, and see if I can locate its stomach…maybe to see how many souls it has devoured by now, and determine if its diet has anything to do with its change. The Vasto Lords…I haven't a chance to see one yet, but I have heard they can pass for humans. How these creatures go though their evolution…from Gillian to Adjucha to Vasto Lord…especially with the drastic evolution of beast to humane features in the last step…perplexes me. It will require more study, but I have plenty of specimens._

_"Janus. You needn't worry about the Hollows, or the Menos Grande. The Shishi-Roku can handle that. Remember, You and the others much deal with the Soul Reapers, who are the morality checks of these planes. The captains are of especially danger. Our leader has revealed three targets so far, in his divinations, thanks to his majesty. Each of us has been assigned to one. I advise you not to take this one lightly. He has the power of a dragon…and no matter how much you want to fight a dragon…do not let overconfidence take you. Such arrogance will doom you._

_"If you have listened to this…good. I will commence another log to speculate the Gotei 13. I am sure they will get in our leader's way. All the same, though you were not ordered to, I thank you for giving me the zan-pakutos of those you've slain so far. I'll give you a present for that. _

_"Excuse me. My soul-eating subject is waking up."_

At that, static pierced the void, and everyone's ears.

It was Rukia who pierced the silence. "So, who says we have a bunch of crazies on our hands?"

"Capturing hollows? Sounds like something Kurotchuri would think up, hey Captain?" Matsumoto responded, a bit too cheerily. Toshiro himself gave a rather stony gaze at her, for it seemed obvious she didn't mind the relief of work.

"We're suppose to purify the hollows so they can go to Soul Society." Toshiro remarked. "Even if they are removing them as a hazard, his group's disrupting the balance…either way, this may give us a clue to exactly what these guys are. Bloodswerth could simply be a psychopath working for a science project…If they are performing experiments…there has to be a place big enough to place them all. Madarame, Ayasegawa, and Yamada can search it out tomorrow."

"Why can't you, Captain?"

"I'm in _school_."

Ichigo made a move to interject, but that moment did not come. Instead, as Karin inevitably expected, the door was kicked open, revealing a boisterous and otherwise insane Isshin Kurosaki, bounding in as an Olympian and promptly dropkicking his orange-haired son in the head.

"Oi, son! Yuzu has been calling for half an hour! No need to let your dinner get-" Isshin did not get to finish, with himself suddenly dropped to the ground and placed in a Boston Crab.

"Dad! Don't interrupt!"

"Oh! Who's your-OWW!!-Friend, Ichigo? You didn't tell me you had a gi-"

"If you finish that sentence-"

"OWWW!! UNCLE! UNCLE! I walk on those!!" The sight was more than amusing for all present, with Isshin locked now, the heels of his feet practically touching his head with his angry, teenage son on top, pulling said legs like a taffy pull. Rukia had a look of horror and hilarity on her face, but she too did not want the patriarch of the Kurosaki household to end up in a hospital, and so moved to reprimand her 'partner' the best way she knew how: Physically.

Both Toshiro and Karin could only grimace at the chaos unwittingly allowed to unfold. Matsumoto cringed at the sight, but was still able to do so with a smile on her face. All three took the time to leave the scene, silent among the clangor of two grown males' screams of agony.

As Toshiro and Karin made their way down the stairs, it was a rather dogged Yuzu who confronted them at the bottom of the stairs, her apron and hands worn from culinary clean-up, but akin to a waitress professional, she bore a stern "Get-down-her-or-else" smile on her face. A cleaver knife, the kind used to dice vegetables, sat comfortably in her petite hands.

"Shiro-Chan!" Yuzu called up. Karin couldn't help but smirk.

"My name is Hitsugaya."

"…Okay! There's a man on the phone for you. Says he wants to talk to you about your grades in school."

"I've only been in-" the white-haired captain broke off, released a sigh, and asked. "Is it my teacher? He's boring."

"He only wanted to talk to you." Yuzu stated. She looked to continue, but she heard the clamor upstairs, combined with a duet of "UNCLE! UNCLE!" From father and son, and gave her own cacophonic shriek. "Daddy! Ichi-nii! Don't fight! Its too much for the bills!"

And with that she hurried up the stairs, mimicking a firefighter's desperation.

Karin could only smile at her normalcy of family, but was keenly aware of the irritating burns in her forearm.

Toshiro, meanwhile, had grabbed the phone that Yuzu had left on hold. With a simple hello, his countenance etched in boredom, he spoke. Karin and Matsumoto leaned in on either side of the youngest captain, eager to eavesdrop on whatever bad marks the De-Powered Soul Reaper had incurred.

"Hello?"

"Toshiro Hitsugaya?"

"Speaking."

"Hehe. Good. Now I cun tell Janus yer alive."

Toshiro's eyes widened in audible shock: Karin could feel hers doing the same. Still, the conversation continued.

"I know yer in school: And no, I'm not one of yer bloody teachers. But I won't tell ya my name. This is strictly a favor I'm doing."

"Okay." Toshiro responded, calmly as he could. "Why are you calling?"

"T'arrange a meeting. You and me. And yer girlfriend, if ya want."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She might as well be, as much as I care." The voice on the other end, Karin noted, was husky and heavy, but bore a metallic tinge to it…as if a robotic voice was trying to meld with the other, rugged one. "Look. I don't have much time, so I'll make ya a deal. Got me?"

"I'm listening."

"Tomorrow. After yer school. I'll be at the monorail station in Sakura Bashi, feeding the birds. Show up then. It'll be uh no-conflict, ya hear? I won't fight, and ya can't start 'un, anyway."

"And what's in it for me?"

"Information. I cun tell ya how to deal with Janus's touchie-feelie thing, afta all. Among other things."

"…and that's it?"

"Oh. C'min alone. I can tolerate yer girlfriend…but naw one else. Just because ya can't fight doesn't mean ya won't bring someone that will. Deal?"

"……" Toshiro fell silent, and Karin could see the scales of reason balancing the various pros and cons in his head. Easily it could be a trap. Just as easily it could be the truth. Either way, it was a dangerous scenario. Karin, in her own mind, would go in regardless. Toshiro however was a captain, and therefore had his reasoning of his men to consider.

Eventually a decision was reached, and Toshiro voiced it without pause. "You got a deal. I'll be there."

"Al'ight then. See ya then."

The phone clicked, sealing away its own death.

"Damn it…What the heck is this?" Toshiro muttered to himself.

The frustration was apparent on his face, and continued to remain painted on that handsome visage for the remainder of the night….

Indeed, even as they finally took their places among the normalcy of a family dinner (Rukia in tow), Karin herself-one not object to contemplations-had to wonder exactly what sort of situation, what sort of tunnel, were they traversing…

It incurred a sinking feeling, that certainly was not Yuzu's good cooking. More than once her eyes looked for the syringe, with its half-filled liquid. More than once she debated inwardly finishing the accident…

More than once…the syringe appeared as a prestige in her hands…

--

_**August 5**__**th**__**, Afternoon…**_

"You could've stayed home."

"Fat chance. You get hurt again and I'll have to pay for it."

"I can take care of myself, idiot."

"Tell that to the dude in the tux that's hellbent on killing you."

"That was a-Wait a minute. Who would you have to pay for, if I get hurt?"

"You spend most of your day with her, shorty."

"……"

The time had come, though it was not as he had expected. Toshiro Hitsugaya, though more wanting of his friend's company than her brother's, found that choices were being plucked out of his grasp with the ease of a juggler. This partially disgusted him, though he was loath to admit it. Ichigo was becoming more and more an enigma to the little captain, whether he cared or not to observe. The adolescent tried vainly to be a clockwork guardian to everyone and everything that mattered to him…but even an imbecile like him should know that _everything _cannot be saved. There will always be casualties…Toshiro learned this himself. If Toshiro had his powers, Ichigo wouldn't be worth his notice, high spiritual pressure aside.

Still…he had a habit of sticking his nose where it wasn't needed. There was also an ironic pattern that Hitsugaya had taken note of, concerning Ichigo and those closest to him…but he still needed more data before he could make a conclusion.

In the end, he just decided to meet the stranger who called him last night half-way. Yes, he would meet the man at the monorail, but he would have some help. Originally, he had intended for Karin to come with him, as the stranger on the phone specifically stated the possibility. However, that was not to be, for two reasons. Ichigo flat out refused to permit Karin to go and meet another potential killer (as could be expected), and for some reason or another, Karin fell sick by the morning. What the reason was, no one was able to tell, but Isshin's suggestion that it was the 'kissing disease' did not make Hitsugaya feel any better. Also, The youngest captain noticed that he could not locate the syringe which Karin found the other day…it infuriated him to a degree, for the purpose of the syringe inscribed "Yousenkawa" was but one of the questions he wanted to ask.

He was missing her cheery banter, all things considered…

"Hey. Shorty."

"Its Hitsugaya."

"Whatever. Where's the dude?"

"Look around."

Toshiro had commissioned all the Soul Reapers, and Rukia as well, to search out the adjacent areas of Mashiba. The exception was Sakura Bashi, which Ichigo and Toshiro found themselves at now, standing outside the monorail station and looking for the man. It was a predictable, innocent setting for a summer day, with the sun bearing down in its glorious rays and the busy crowds congregating with the end of both school and a majority of day jobs. Toshiro wasn't used to seeing sheer masses of people like he did here, even with his elongated stay in the living world, as the isolation of the Seireitei shut a large percentage of the souls sent to Soul Society out. But here…even without scanning for souls, Toshiro was amazed again at the droves of men and women, of myriad ages, fashions, and motives, walking in automatic files in and out of the steady monorail. Toshiro could see their features blur into incoherent pigments, their clothes transforming into colored smears as they moved, never stopping less they entered the 'iron horse' that carried them through Karakura, or halting their progress to sake their parched throat or surly stomach via a convenient vendor. Benches, though seemingly out of place due to the highly suggested pace of the comers and goers, in their own business suits, school uniforms, and rebel-yelling punk drag, remained as well, some facing toward the giant monorail, will others faced towards the spry trees: The only things both living and stationary in the area. The trees whispered into the winds, mimicking Hitsugaya's snow-peak hair, as if to mock the hustle-bustle of the rampant, unheeding, 'white rabbit' monorail. Even the birds, lively in their own free will, scolded the chains of the monorail, with high-octave chirping that chided the youngest captain's frail nerves.

"The weirdo didn't describe himself, did he?"

"Well, he _did _say to come alone…"

"Fat chance. You get screwed up, and I get banged up by my little sister. And I'll never hear the end of it from Dad, either."

"Not my fault your dad belongs in a sanitarium."

"Yeah, but Its _our _fault he isn't in there already."

Toshiro did not deign a comment.

Their eyes scanned the area, hoping to find something that would stand out. Easily, if one thing could stand out in a universe of entropic movement, it was stagnation. If someone was not moving, disjoining from the mundane mainstream that was normalcy…then perhaps the target was there. The stranger had also quoted that he was 'feeding the birds'. Deciding to translate that literally, Toshiro eyeballed the places where the birds (which were doves, by the way) landed, allured to the spacious yet occupied pavement by breadcrumbs and other trite foods.

"Ichigo."

"Yeah?"

"Check in the station."

"Don't order me around."

"I'm a captain. It's a habit."

"Yeah, well I'm not a crony of yours. I'm staying."

"Stay and I'll kick you in the groin."

"What? In public?"

"Kuchiki seems fond of it."

Ichigo shut up at that point, shrugging his own jadedness. He agreed to the ice-water captain's command, and ventured into the monorail station, disappearing into the blurry throng of innumerable people.

"Something like this needs more tact than Ichigo can deliver." Toshiro muttered to himself. "If he sees an enemy, he'll chase after it as preemptive protection."

With that statement, Toshiro turned his eyes back to the doves, now which seemed to be congregating near a bench by a soda-pop machine. Curious, his teal eyes traced their circling movements and their pudgy landings, before befalling a person sitting on one of the wooden, shiny benches. Person perhaps was the best word to supply the man's initial description, for the bird-feeder hid his appearance well, but another adjective filtered subconsciously into Toshiro's mindset.

_Giant._

The figure sitting on the bench was huge in every way, and instantly Toshiro felt like his fellow captain-7th Division Captain Sajin Komomura-was masquerading in the human world, discarding his sable kimono and his cauldron-shaped helmet for a wide-brimmed hat and a oversized trench coat. The man's body, both wide and tall, was exquisitely covered, but his clothes, especially the trench coat, were shabby and ragged, as if lacking the interest of the impressed. As he watched the mechanical movements, he noticed that one of the hands flailed out, flinging breadcrumbs into the air for the birds. This hand was also huge, definitely able to engulf Toshiro's own, but was hidden in a conspicuous mitten. For a summer day like this, wearing such heavy clothing as that, the giant must've been burning up.

It looked nothing like an informant, yet with the obvious desire to hide his appearance…one could not make hasty assumptions.

Toshiro walked quietly forward, ignoring the rest of the busy throngs around him as he approached. The boy captain halted at the back of the stranger, his size becoming more pronounced. He was thuggish, a hoodlum by suggestion of clothing.

"I know yer behind me, kiddo." The stranger slurred out, a unusual metallic tinge to his tone as he spoke.

"…why haven't you done anything?"

"Yer not a threat t'me, kiddo."

"I'm older than you, man."

"Question ya on both counts, judge." The stranger slurred again, the unusual melody of organic larynx and probing steel apparent on his tongue. "Might as well hava seat."

Toshiro turned to the bench, and saw a massive anomaly which inadvertently revealed another factoid about the giant. As his eyes traced the peculiar incline of the bench, angling to where the giant sat, the sheer massiveness was suggested again, this time by his weight. The bench, furnished of a strong wood, bent to support his weight, and failed for that matter. All the same, Toshiro sidled beside him, wary of the man.

"Ye've seemed t'tick off some'un, kiddo." The man remarked.

"You haven't said your name."

"…Is that al'ays the case wit' ye Soul Reapers? Gotta introduce yerself just t'sate yer taste buds? Sheesh. I ain't Janus. Thank goodness I ain't Janus."

Toshiro's eyes furrowed at the mention of the Seven-Sealed Devil, with his reference of the assassin.

"I don't wanna give ya my name, kiddo-"

"I'm not a kid."

"Ya look like one…" The giant man, who had a bag of breadcrumbs cradled between his arm and his bulk, shifted his bag with his enormous arm and produced a cigar from his pocket. "Ya got questions? I got answers, captain."

"…That easy? No payment?"

"…ya friggin' can't pay me. I don't want yer damned money." The giant remarked, now taking the time to light the cigar, and planting the lit cigar into the abyss that was his mouth. "I have my reasons fer my actions."

"I thought this was-"

"Shut up'n talk."

"…How can I get my powers back?"

"Heh. Straight t'the jugular, eh?" The man looked over, the hat hiding everything of his countenance with the shadow of the brim. "Truth be told, I can't answer that. Only Janus can answer that. Its his touch. But…I suppose a lil'mathematics can be done. Ya see, Janus's seventh seal, fits well wit' him. He can increase the power of anything he touches wit' his bare hands. Good fer a time. Boosts yerself up pretty clean. But, as in yer case…as in many cases, in fact…he goes too far. Overstrain, ya know. Ya stand out like a rabbit in a jungle. I can sense yer fricked-up spiritual pressure…can't use it can ya?"

Toshiro found silence, allowing the giant to continue.

"Ya know, its easy to predict when ya'll be back at full swing. Yer _banzai-"_

"_BAN-kai."_

_"_What's in uh name, eh? _Bom-kai_ then. Yer _Bom-kai_ has an obvious measurement when activated. It has three four-petal flowers which represent yer stamina. Simple then, at predict. Janus…he got yer at what? Twenty-four? Twenty-five?"

"Twenty-five."

"…heh. I expect then…that ya'll get yet power in…eleven weeks."

Toshiro could feel his eyes bulge open.

"I told ya, it's a debilitating trick, old Janus's got. Gotta admit though, I haven't seen the freak that happy for a while. Ya broke his friggin' face and he still wants to fight ya."

"…Who do you work for?"

The enormous stranger looked at him, a cigar torch in the shadowy abyss on his face. "Can't answer that either. But I won't hafta."

"Why?"

"Wait a week and see for yerself." was the half-mechanical, half-surly response. "They are coming."

"Who?" Toshiro was powerless himself, but perhaps he could relay this to the Gotei 13.

"Canopus, he calls it. We'll be here in uh week."

"…And why are you telling me this?"

"Ya wanted information, eh?"

Toshiro could not find an argument there.

"Well? Anything else?" The giant asked.

"Is there another way to gain my powers back?"

"…..Janus always rambled on how a person could get his powers back instantaneously…but that required some stress'n some real crazy circumstances. Sorry, can't help ya there. But…I do feel sorry for ya, captain. I don't know why, but I guess I can tell ya this. _YOU _are target numero uno. Everyone of Canopus's gonna be gunnin' ya down, 'n I don't hafva clue why."

"…then why don't you kill me!?" Toshiro responded, the frustrations all the more apparent. "Why wait if I'm so damn important! You can kill me! You just said I wasn't a threat, right?!"

"True. I did say that. But Janus's got first dibs on ya. He'd kill anyone that gets in t'way of his fun. And besides…I'm only here as a favor. I ain't here just for ya." The giant remarked. "Just letting ya know how damned happy ya made Janus, ya know. He loves strong opponents."

"Thanks. I feel that much better." Toshiro responded. "I guess I'll find my own-"

"Ya could always use that syringe."

"What?" Toshiro turned to the heavily-cloaked man. He waved his hands at the birds, his arms imitating a helicopter as he did so.

"De Syringe. I know Janus doesn't have it. The Doctor's been'a whining like a lap dog about it. Janus didn't have it, so I suspected you had it. Use it, if yer that desperate."

"What are you-"

"Oops. Gotta go. I'm late, and my date'll be killin' me if I wait. Here. Some money. Go buy some Ice cream or sumthin'." The giant stood up in haste, as if remembering an appointment he almost forgot. He threw a few bills at the kid, and turned around…

…only to be met by a livid, roaring Ichigo Kurosaki in Soul Reaper mode, his _zan-pakuto _bearing down on the massive trench coat figure. The blade came down quickly, as the man raised his hatter-head.

The result was rather anticlimactic. Rather than cut through the man, as it would a normal hollow, the _zan-pakuto _shattered upon the hard swing touching the body. The blade shrieked its own death wail, as it split into two pieces, the tip flying into the sky, while the lower half remained attached to the body.

The giant only dusted off his front, as if unfazed by the blow, and said simply. "Betta start trainin' kiddos. Next time, I won't be a messenger."

Without another word, the man lumbered off, leaving a furious Ichigo and a frustrated Hitsugaya behind him. Ichigo looked at his _zan-pakuto_ with an awe mixed in his anger. Toshiro, his hands pocketed in his borrowed shirt, could only looked at the footsteps of the giant, as each step created a crease into the sidewalk with each move of the gait.

"We're in big trouble, aren't we?" Ichigo said humorlessly.

"Yeah, Kurosaki. We may be."

The remainder of the day did not hold well to that belief, for Toshiro still could not find that syringe.

A plan of attack was necessary. Or else.

Toshiro did not like his chances with these new foes.

Nor did he know what they wanted with _him_.

--

_End Chapter_.

Author's note: I forgot to mention in chapter five what a tizona is. A tizona is a Spanish blade popularized in the 16th century, when the Spaniards fought against the Moors. It is more commonly known as the "El Cid" sword, and is about three-and-a-half-feet in length, just so you know.

Again, Reviews are appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8: Promise to Life

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach!. That's Tite Kubo's property.

Again, Thank you for your reviews, especially to AbaraiSuzuki.

By the way, just to clear things up a bit…

_-Italics by themselves means a person is thinking._

**Bold means either a really deep voice or a Zan-pakuto spirit is talking.**

_Italics can also represent foreign languages or the names of attacks._

_Lastly, Italics with quotations represent flashbacks: When someone is thinking about something that someone said in the past._

That's all for that.

--

_**Chapter 8: Castling To King**_

_**August 6**__**th**__** to August 12**__**th**__**, Evening…**_

A captain could never afford to be friends-or anything higher- with his subordinates. As a commanding officer, it was against protocol to not anything of the personal life of those he or she commanded. Marines and soldiers alike were able to become friends, drinking buddies…in fact it was almost a certainty that those who fight simultaneously for their lives and kill in that sacred defense. But this only worked with those of the same rank and file. Soldiers of the same company became friends, but they never become friends with the politicians and the generals they never saw, who are responsible for sending them into Death's loving, sycophantic embrace of shrapnel, iron, and blood in the first place. A captain simply cannot afford to be friends with his subordinates, and there is stern, unmerciful logic behind that strategy. A commanding officer requires his judgment. A commanding officer requires his unbending, unyielding thought process, for in an area where naked Death frolics, with the same carefree air as a nymph or a satyr in a field, the option of sacrifice may extend itself. It may force itself. And the captain…may be forced to a choice where neither option, the immediate destruction or the lingering despair, sits comfortably in his or her powerful tongue.

In fact, he may choke on it.

By the book, a captain, or any prestigious officer for that matter, should be independent enough to make his own decisions in the heat of anarchy, yet strict enough to obey the chain of command. The infantry have no place in this hierarchy, instead being the mortar which all the other senior officers can even dare stand on. It is through their blood, that the aged, disabled veterans that lend their wizened experience to the army as a whole, are even able to do such a thing. They, the pawns, are the reason the king breathes at all. As such, these men give their lives to the brain, their captain, as a hope so that, even if many die, some will live.

But a captain cannot have friends for this very reason. A captain in a platoon holds the scales of life and death in one arm, gripping it with a whitened-knuckled hand the way a soldier would grip his bayonet. And in those Libran scales, the commanding officer weights the value of each man's life in his outfit. If he or she goes by the book, in that he meets each subordinate on a last-name basis, or better a nickname basis, he is doing well. If he learns nothing of the history of each face, capped in camouflage-garb and holding as his third arm a rifle without conscience, he is doing well. If the commander stops at the color of the eyes of his haunted men and women, and dares not look into those windows, perceiving as a compassionate mystic the unique biographies of each soldier, he is doing well. So long as he sees the humans allotted to him, given to him as resources, as exactly that-resources-and not lives…then he is doing as he is expected to do.

A captain is meant to be emotionless. Mechanistic. Callous. Cold. A logical, knowledgeable devil, without tears or sanity, without eyes to see families and loved ones, and without ears to hear the anecdotes pertaining to each relative. No, a captain is not meant to be human. He is meant to be something _wearing _a human shell. A captain is not meant to identify with his subordinates…he is meant to be better than them.

There is cruel and judicious reason behind this, why a captain knows a specific marine as 'marine' and not 'Joe' or 'Sam' or 'Scott' or 'James'. A kind and compassionate captain would reluctantly send men he knew about to the frontlines. Such a captain would be unjustly biased. Such a captain would be more likely to send a man or woman he did not know of to battle, to _die_, than one whom he's shared beers with, played with their children, and suffered their miseries as if they were their own. Such a captain, while a decent Samaritan at best, is not fit to lead men, unfortunately, and make the cruel, gory decisions that are required at times on the ever-changing battlefield.

Such a captain does not deserve to be captain.

A captain is expected to make sacrifices. It is not a true test if everyone lives, after all. A captain must expect that anyone of the men assigned under his wing will be killed in the next battle…to transform from a name, like 'Joe' or 'Sam' or 'Scott'…and trade that name for a number, like 'Casualty #23'. To a captain, a soldier loses his importance with death. To add a name would only allow false importance to linger, and claw at his judgment. Indecision is worse at times than even being biased…to put a disliked or anonymous soldier on the frontline instead of a familiar drinking buddy.

These are the captains that win, and ensure that upon the bones of those that died, the unknown sons and daughters do not have to walk with body armor and sniper guns…over those same, buried corpses.

A captain may be friends with another captain. But it is both difficult and dangerous for a captain to be friends with a subordinate. Never mind the interference of rank: A captain holds the soldier's life or death at the tip of his tongue. In his brain is the device to decide: Will I send my friend to guts and glory? To a place where he will likely die, and I will see him again only in a wooden box? Or will I send him to safe haven? To a place where there is little conflict and much isolation, and he can hold his manhood cheap in his hands?

Well, captain? What do you do? What do you choose?

The lingering despair? Do you choose to send your friends into a shrouded bloodbath, where you have no eyes, where your breathes come out in suffocated fears, and where the fogs of war spawn both shadows of your delusions, and realities that will kill your friends? Do you send them there? Do you send them to their deaths, and then you sleep, immersing yourself into psychedelic nightmares, where your comrades-that trusted you to deliver them into life-scorn you and plague you to insanity, and strip you of both confidence and smile…all fabrications brought by yourself, captain. You ordered them to fight. And their number was up.

Or, do you choose the immediate destruction? Do you, a king on the board, chose to identify yourself with your friends? To don camo-boots as they did, pick up your gun, as they did, and march to meet the crap shoot that is your survival? Do you choose to die with your blood brothers, proving your pride by dying as a soldier among soldiers, rather than stay alive as coward in a comfy suite? And thus, because of your willingness to perish, do you damn everything you left behind? The wife, which commits suicide because you left her? The son, who curses your name for abandoning him, in his child-rearing? The daughter, who develops a cunning fakery to avoid the conflicts you so willingly threw yourself into? And the cause which you served as a martyr to…do you allow that to die or live in uncertainty, as your destiny has been prematurely reached?

Well captain? Where would you stand? Destruction or despair?

You would need a friend for that. For a decision like that, which would force you to chose from the worst to the worst…it is too big for anyone. No set of shoulders can withstand such force upon them. Hence, you need a friend. Someone to share drinks with. To laugh with. To play with. And…in some cases…someone to hold your hand.

These thoughts were inside Toshiro Hitsugaya, the neophyte captain among the Gotei 13. A king castrated from his power, he could not join his comrades, now with the news of his attackers still residing in his memory. He wanted to fight, to take control of his own destiny, for it would be unbelievably easy for him to be accused as a highborn coward. Powerless as he was, his rank still held. Toshiro Hitsugaya was captain of the 10th company, and for a neophyte like himself, he commanded respect through stability.

He did not want to be treated as a kid, but as an equal, before the likes of Kuchiki, Aizen, Zaraki, Unohana, Ukitake, & Yamamoto. It was his goal. But now, adversity spit in his face. Here, he could not garner respect by sheer force of arms. Here he must win without himself being in the picture, without himself becoming a determining arm in the whole affair.

But even a child needed council, especially when thrust into the situation as he was. It was preposterous to ask of council from the ones which he commanded: How can subordinates have faith in a captain's decisions if the captain himself wavers? But he still needed council. For that, and as such he would be useless as a combatant, he found himself in Karin Kurosaki's company.

The day following the cigar-smoking giant's announcement, proclaiming an attack on July 12th, Toshiro gave the order to connect with Soul Society, namely to see if they could get reinforcements. Interestingly, Byakuga Kuchiki responded each attempt, with his pestering of Rukia's well-being and his deflection of either acquiring Yamamoto's audience or Renji Abarai as support grating the 10th company captain's respect. Byakuga announced that it is very likely the whole thing, from an degenerate too scared enough to give his name or his face, could be a falsehood, a charade meant to misdirect them. Also, Kuchiki the nobleman reasoned…these were humans. They had no spiritual pressure, and so even if there were a hundred of them, the combined forces of Madarame, Matsumoto, Ayasegawa, Yamada, and Kurosaki should be more than enough to silence the troublemakers. However, Byakuga agreed to investigate the organization called Canopus, for future reference.

Stranded though he was, Toshiro did intend for preparation. He called off the searches for the Seven-Sealed Devil, for in his heart he knew the dapper dandy would be in the attack squadron: His fanatical zeal in seeking entertainment suggested no less. Thus, he decided to move to training his troops, so that even if he himself could not frequent the battlefield, those that he sent out to the front would be ready. For the Soul Reapers assigned to him-Madarame, Ayasegawa, and Matsumoto-he ordained them to schedules of sparring, manifesting their swordplay with the automatic deftness of a jellyfish's sting. Their speed was tailored to be as a cephalopod's deliberation, augmented by Ikkaku's own vicious _bushido_. And their instincts were to be sharpened as the very blades that they held. Of course they gave insistences, for personal time: Matsumoto her drinking parties, Ayasegawa his visits to the salon, and Madarame his stops at the dojo. These were all denied, up until July 11th, on the eve of conflict, which Hitsugaya reasoned to relax before the fight.

Hanataro Yamada, on the other hand, did not train at all, his place being support rather than a combatant. As a medic, he was meant to help those back onto the battlefield, and save lives as they took them. Besides, Yamada was weaker than most, and including him onto the frontline would hinder them more than help. His lack of confidence aside, Yamada's inevitable peril would only invite a disintegration of the lines. Hence, he was instructed to stock on his supplies and strength his _kidou_, but evade intensive training.

Ichigo proved a valuable asset, in spite of his set backs. Without reinforcements, Hitsugaya was restrained to what Soul Reapers he had. He could not use Rukia Kuchiki due to her loss of powers, but he did commandeer the orange-haired Kurosaki scion. Immediately following his breaking of his _zan-pakuto_, the 'delinquent' ventured to Urahara Shoten, demanding to be trained by duplicitous Kisuke Urahara. After much shouting, threatening, laughing, and otherwise included thrown furniture, Urahara agreed to train Ichigo, provided he supply him with a favor at a later time, of his fabrication. Apparently, the former 12th division captain had his methods, but he sought to prepare Ichigo for the fight, for not even a shrewd information broker like Kisuke knew anything of the group called "Canopus". He did have a description for them, though:

Bad news.

Ichigo also had allies of his own, independent of the Soul Reapers, and a direct result of the Kurosaki heir's mutative energies. As Toshiro had noticed with fair ease, Ichigo's spiritual pressure was so massive that it affected everyone he was in sustained contact with, over a daily basis. Easily Toshiro made notes of his 'radioactive property' energy: Like a radioactive material, Ichigo radiated and affected everyone. If he had a 'valve' to close it off, perhaps he would not affect everyone as he did. But he lacked any sort of control, and pulsated this energy constantly (Toshiro wondered intensely why the darned hollows weren't attacking him as of now), seeping into the bodies of his closest friends. A single encounter had no effect, but a persistent exposure would make people spiritually aware. This was the case with several of Ichigo's classmates, including Tatsuki Arisawa, Orihime Inoue, and Yatsora Sado, the later of the two not only developing spiritual awareness, but garnering their own powers. This Toshiro decided to use, as Ichigo managed to wrangle his friends Inoue and Sado into helping with the planned attack. These three, for the week, were placed under Urahara's protection and tutelage, and Hitsugaya, while always a little paranoid of the scientist's motives, felt the adolescents were in good hands.

The last member of his advance guard was a surprise, and how Ichigo, a substitute Soul Reaper, managed to befriend him was beyond the youngest captain's comprehension. This was Uryu Ishida, a _Quincy_, and by that status an enemy of Soul Reapers. He did not seem at all enthusiastic endeavoring to aid Hitsugaya or the rest, but a saying apparently applied here: Adversity makes strange bedfellows. While no love was documented between Quincies and Soul Reapers, The organization of Canopus made no distinction as of yet. The experiementation on Hollows was a feat even the militant Quincies couldn't stomach, and so Uryu, more at the behest of Ichigo and Inoue than anything else, agreed to be included in the numbers, though he chose to partake in private training.

And so, Toshiro's platoon was set: Ishida, Inoue, Yatsora, Kurosaki, Madarame, Ayasegawa, Yamada, Matsumoto, and Kuchiki. These nine would be his team, to counter the first wave, and perhaps survive against the mysterious group of Canopus.

However, A captain needs council, and peace at times. Toshiro found it almost impossible in the week…for he had been labeled by his foes.

_"YOU are target numero uno._"

That is what the giant said. And so, for the day, Toshiro tried fervently to reclaim his powers. He would stand behind the house, trying to summon his _zan-pakuto _Hyourinmaru to his hands. His efforts, however, were as per usual in vain. He could not wait eleven weeks, not when he had only _one _week to prepare. Again Urahara was at a loss at to how to remedy the situation. The stress was there, as always…for this powerlessness frustrated him completely, and the lack of progress only worsened his mood. Eventually he surrendered to that, but it was by another's whim that he stopped.

Karin Kurosaki surprised him again.

--

_**August 6**__**th**__**, early afternoon…**_

When Karin woke on the 5th, her blood was boiling with an unnatural undulation, that which she did not dare to recall. She pictured in her head, in her delirium, a rolling sea of liquid metal-a curious, quite Jungian vision, for which she did not have the patience to decipher-but the heat in her head did not end with the dream. There were several other images which she could vaguely recall: that particularly of a colossus looming in the background, its form hunched over some desk or pedestal, and a hammer clasped in its hand. But these were images, more or less…not the rampant reality which Karin was accustomed to.

No, reality was much more brutal than psychoanalytic archetypes.

Karin could not remember feeling as ill as she did then. The expression of heat, of fire, of desert-swathing radiation, sweltered her. It was nothing like her experiences with the dead. Placid ghosts only caused a tingle, a small cold pinprick to signify their presence. The monsters she was used to seeing and feeling also elicited a vicious backlash, incurring her very digestive system into reverse, and leaving her in a state of complete vertigo. However, this was a new feeling. She was dehydrated, yet she consumed water at a swift pace…only never to relieve that sweltering heat. The root of the problem did not bother her, for she had been too focused on alleviating her condition.

At least Daddy had been around, supplying her with ice as best she could on her forehead. It put her down that she could not join Toshiro: She did _not_ want to be left behind.

Perhaps it was quite stupid of her to use that syringe on herself after all. And it was much more idiotic to not tell anyone. Not Daddy. Not Ichi-nii. Not Yuzu. And especially not Shiro-Chan.

_Darn it…I wanted to help you, Shiro-chan…And now I'm stuck in a gosh-darn bed with a fever…I'm an idiot…_

Alas, it would not be the last time Karin admitted herself of inherent stupidity.

However, laying in a bed for a day, without much interaction, forced another clash of reckless thinking. Fever annoyed her. Helplessness annoyed her. Drinking ten glasses of water in the course of an hour and a half annoyed her and made her half to go to the bathroom too often for her tastes. Against reason and the whimpers of her body, and inevitably against the sane reasoning of her siblings, Karin made her own quiet choice. Damned be her condition. She was going to help her friend.

So when the next day came, the 6th, Karin found her chance. Yuzu had to leave due to school, as did Ichigo. Karin had to take in sick, and Daddy of course had the clinic. In the end, however, Toshiro had his own concerns. He ditched school to take care of his own Soul Reaper duties, as she overheard him say to Rangiku Matsumoto the night before. Apparently, he wanted to see if he could tend to 'the matter' by himself, and school really lost its usefulness with the realization of his predicament slapping his face.

_Boy, Toshiro…you're really losing it, at this rate…_

The raven-haired tomboy did not take the youngest captain for a rule-breaker, his punk rebel appearance aside. He was a stuffed shirt that wasn't used to having fun poked at him.

It felt like heck for her to get up, her strength fluctuating as she struggled more by will than by actual muscular strength to stand. Her daddy was still concerned about her, but there was a compulsion that struck her mentally. She was friends with Toshiro, and it was hurting her to see him wound up more and more from events he had no control over. The fact she put the syringe in her was an attempt to see if it could help her in his assistance. She hadn't asked Ichigo yet how he gained his Soul Reaper powers: The very fact he did have them and hid them from her told enough, and probably straight up asking wasn't going to be productive.

Still, as she pulled herself up to her feet, her world spinning like a top, she did not allow her resolve to falter.

_All right Shiro-Chan…ready or not…here I come._

Stealthily as she could, the raven-haired tomboy crept down the stairs, each step tempted her to overshoot and miss her landing. She began to wonder if there was some sort of drug in that damn syringe that made her get high, for she had never felt anything like this. Continued on, her skin felt like scalding hot iron, as it roamed the banister, her only means of balance. She checked herself in the mirror before creeping out the door, in order to get a look at herself: Her normally flowing raven-locks were disheveled like the victim of a cantankerous earthquake, and her clothes, which persevered a struggle just to put on, beheld its own trite weariness. For a soccer player like herself, it was disgusting to be as tired as she was, but she was intensely concerned. Her plagued body was a marionette to her steadfast, impulsive compulsions, no matter how stupid they appeared to be.

Her throat was parched as she lumbered sluggishly out the door.

It did not take her nearly as long as she figured to find Toshiro. Indeed, she might as well just looked outside her window just to grab his attention. The white-haired captain stood outside, apparently in deep concentration, as he held a wooden sword in his hands. As she watched him from the side of the house, his eyes locked shut from the power of his meditations, he heard him repeat a mantra…a mantra she heard before…

"Sit upon the Frosted Heavens…Hyourinmaru!"

With his incantation, he swung the stick in a massive circular arc, as if hoping to create something from nothing. However, all the swing produced was a disturbance in air. Thus, Toshiro-never opening his eyes once, fell back into his mantra.

"Sit upon the Frosted Heavens….Hyourinmaru!!"

Again, he performed the swing. Again, he created nothing but wind. Again, he resumed the mantra.

"Sit upon the Frosted Heavens….Hyourinmaru!!"

Again. And Again. The youngest captain repeated with the hopelessness of a gambler, believing that the next time would always be _the _time, and each time forcing his hopes to plummet. Karin's head began to feel woozy with the doleful pattern, and eventually she stepped forward.

The first step she took, Toshiro opened his eyes. She saw them enlarge briefly as their teal brilliance fixed on hers.

"Kurosaki. What are you doing?"

"……"

"Karin. I'm not a parent of yours, but I will ask again. What are you doing?"

"I believe _cough! _I should ask that question." Karin weakly replied.

This drew an eyebrow rise from Toshiro, who could only stand in audible confusion. He threw the stick aside, and found solace in his pockets.

"Karin, you are sick, aren't you? Why are you out of bed?"

"I'm-" The raven-haired girl didn't even get to finish the sentence, for Toshiro already crossed the distance between them, taking a hand out to feel her forehead, like a nurse would. His hand was surprisingly cold against her warm brow, and she was certain something other than her forehead was warm.

"Out of their mind, this whole family is." Toshiro muttered, shaking his head. "You're still sick, as I expected. Get back in your bed."

"But I'm fine, real-"

"Get. Back. To. Bed." Toshiro flatly stated. He turned around abruptly to return to his affair, to fetch his wooden sword, and resume his pointless training.

Karin stepped after him, deliberately disobeying him. Her hand, trembling as she extended it to his cold shoulder, stopped him from, in her opinion, wasting his time, and force some sense into the youngest captain.

"Karin. You are in-"

"Will you shut up?!" Karin shouted. "Do you think you're the only one that cares what happens to you? Are you that _damn dense!?_ You're important to a lot more people that just yourself! Your life isn't something that you can carelessly throw away! You…ugh…I don't feel too good…"

Karin's outburst fatigued her a lot faster than she anticipated, and so she could feel light and the feeling in her legs fading. Her body lurched forward, sauced by an ever-increasing heat of anger and vindication, and she worried she would fall flat on her face for such an arousal. However, her descent was stopped quickly, with Toshiro quickly grabbing her by the sides and steadying her. His face was an enigma, as her midnight black eyes clashed with his teal orbs, and his mouth curled in what was a chimera. Not contempt, arrogance, or scorn fitted his countenance. Instead, there was almost a combination of exhaustion, and the rubble of an emotional wall…it was anxiety. Weakness and disquiet which she had never seen before in the short while they knew each other.

His arms forced her body close to him, using himself as a pillar with her as the attached shadow.

"Damn it, Kurosaki…" Toshiro muttered under his breath. "You shouldn't be outside."

"Shiro-cha-"

"No. You're coming with me." Toshiro said, softer than what she was used to hearing from him. His arms wrapped around her middle, cradling it with the same care he held his saber (the wooden practice sword laid forgotten behind them). His face seemed set in a possible irritation, but there was still a strong will in his face, a strength that Karin had seen before…in her brother, perhaps, but cooler.

They fell into silence, with only the sound of their feet on the grass and Karin's huffs for breath. Toshiro, aware of the possibility of Karin's vertigo in association with her illness, did not relinquish his circular hold on her waist. Karin did not find her voice to battle, for the numbness in her legs had stagnated like mosquitoes in a marsh. She moved with Toshiro's borrowed energies, climbing the stairs with him tactically positioned behind her. She still had her burdensome pride, even if she was sick. Besides, she did succeed in getting him out of his funk…at her expense…but…

They found no thoughts either, with the youngest captain mechanically and like a nurse maneuvering the raven-haired tomboy into her room, and Karin's mind still mucked in her sickness. She did not oppose him as he moved her into the bed…though he did not tuck her in. Apparently, he had his own pride, and he seemed a little embarrassed in the whole episode.

_Are you really that concerned? Shiro-Chan?_

The youngest captain made to leave the room, seeming to transform back into the usual cold dragon that he normally was, and not the compassionate 'nurse' he had just been, but then he stopped. His head turned slightly, eyeballing again the vividly bi-personality room of the Kurosaki twins once, before turning his eyes to a chair before Yuzu's room. Without a word, and taking a brief look at Karin's bed-ridden form, the youngest captain pulled up the chair, and sat down, his seated body obstructing her path.

"W-what are you doing?"

"If I go outside, and try to summon Hyourinmaru back to me, you'll just follow me again, won't you?"

_Well…yeah._

"So?" Karin actually voiced out.

"I don't want you outside. Your dad, sister, _and_ brother wouldn't want you out, as it is."

"I'm presentable!"

"I don't call pajamas with soccer balls as presentable, but my standards are different that yours." Toshiro responded. "I guess I can't train until you get better."

"Hmm. I though you cared."

Toshiro glanced at her, his eyes losing some of its penetrating sharpness. Then he turned back to the window. "It was stupid of you, Kurosaki."

"Stupid? What do ya mean?"

"You can barely _stand_, Karin! For the love of-If it started raining, I'd have Ichigo on my throat and…just…just…" His face strewn up in emotion, as if struggling to find the right words to state his words. "Just…stay in bed, and focus on your recovery. I got enough people to worry about."

"Like you?" Karin huffed out. Somehow or another she found the strength to whirl her legs around, finding solace in her covers.

"I can take care of myself."

"…do you have family?"

Obviously, he did not expect that. His eyes widened, and he whipped his head back to her, eyes again meeting, with colors striking in rays and souls meeting in Jungian clay. His face clearly dropped its guard, but he regained his hold, and turned his eyes back to the window.

"Toshiro. You're ignoring me."

"…I'm a soul reaper."

"So?"

"…I don't remember if I _had _any family before then, and I don't have much of a family to begin with."

"So is that why?" Karin prompted. Her head now found a place in her pillow, but her eyes did not leave from Toshiro's face.

"Why what?"

"Why you don't care if you live or die?"

"I'm already dead." Toshiro said, the finality accompanying his voice armed to end the argument.

"You're sitting there now, don't ya?"

Toshiro nodded.

"You got injured, didn't ya?"

There was a little more reluctance in his agreement this time, as Karin pressed her questioning.

"That top-hatted nutcase that chased you around was aiming to kill you, right?"

"Yes."

"So you can die again?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you care about your _own _life?"

Toshiro fell silent, his hands running though his snow-peak hair, as he avoided the question the best he could. Karin smiled as she had the overconfident captain on the ropes.

"…I give myself to my cause. To Soul Society. To the balance."

"That's crap." Karin accused.

"I'm a captain of the Gotei 13. That is something I give my life to as it is."

"But…if you were to die today…wouldn't anyone be sad?"

"Momo, probably. Matsumoto too. But…I don't have a family."

_But…Shiro-Chan…_

"Its unimportant anyway…if the risk is high enough, The Gotei 13 is willing enough to sacrifice a captain for the greater good." Toshiro continued on. "If Canopus-whatever it is-cannot be stopped, or has bigger plans than what they're letting on…as they seem more interested in me…" Toshiro stopped in his monologue, aware of the strict rules of Soul Society and the Seireitei, more than Karin ever would be. Resignation to one's fate was perhaps the better recall…and his powerlessness wasn't helping.

"_TOSHIRO HITSUGAYA!_" Karin shouted, her reaction eliciting a coughing fit as such. Toshiro obviously reeled from the sudden outburst.

"How can you not give a _damn _about your own life?!" Karin swore, now sitting up like a king cobra and shouting loud enough that her daddy could probably hear her. "How can you be so cruel to yourself?! You deserve to live! You do! No freakshow can change that! No law can change that! Your breathing, aren't you? You smile, don't you? I-" Karin held her tongue before forming her next verbal deluge, aware of the potential awkwardness that might result and finally finding a hint a restraint in her tirade. She looked down, clutching her sheets as she controlled exactly what was coming out of her mouth.

"Even if you're…well…dead…people do care about what happens to you. Don't think that nobody cares what happens to you. You should live to make those idiots looks stupid anyway…they aren't your bosses, Toshiro, and even your boss shouldn't tell you to die as it is. People want you to live."

Toshiro, though shocked by the sheer forcefulness of Karin Kurosaki's words, recovered to his rather cold state. He leaned back as if pondering over Karin's unintentional outburst, but he did not immediately reply to her strong-lunged shouts. Indeed, oblivion seemed to be the place that his mind festered at, as Karin suspected, he had never dealt with such a situation as this. Of course, he wasn't the only one: Karin herself had no idea why she went off the deep end like that. She just got tired of seeing her friend digging himself so far into the ground, and beating himself for his own lack of powers, at the moment.

"Can you…promise me something?"

Toshiro still lacked his voice, and only gave indication he was listening by a raised eyebrow.

"Now, I don't know how you handle promises over in Soul Society, but over here we keep to what we say, all right? If you break this, I will hunt you down and kick your butt. Got me?"

Toshiro, as if still in the throes of shock, only gestured with his hands, signaling for her continuance.

"Promise me, Shiro-Chan-"

"Its Hitsugaya."

"……You're never gonna drop that, are you?"

"No."

"…ugh…whatever. Promise me, Toshiro, that you won't get yourself killed like an idiot."

"…I'm not an idiot."

"I know you're not dumb, Shiro-Chan, but…Ah, I feel like crap…" Karin muttered as she struggled to continue, her strange illness contaminating her thought patterns. "Look…These guys all want you dead, right? Then promise me you won't get yourself killed. Promise me that you won't let yourself get killed."

Toshiro blinked cautiously, as if considering the reasons behind such a request. But Karin did have her reasons. She had already lost someone that could not be replaced…

"Okay. I give you my word." Toshiro said, turning away from Karin as he said it.

"Look at me and say it, Toshiro."

Toshiro did. She saw him once, for once, as the boy that he was, and not the man he tried to be. Karin was not above-average in terms of intelligence, and never would be in the sense of genius, but she was perceptive with her friends and family. As Toshiro had been inserted into that circle, she could see for a moment the inner layer of the young Soul Reaper…the person inside the cold armor. He lost his frigid, mechanical exterior, and lost his stone-heart visage. There was not a over-dressed captain standing too straight, too tall, on the balls of his feet and on the hinges of his desires in front of her. There was not a fearless, overconfident samurai sitting in that chair, his mind fixated on work, honor, and strength. There was just a boy, her age physiologically, sitting there, in a white-buttoned shirt, and black pants raided from her brother's storage…a picture of normalcy, and stripped of uniform and title. For what was Toshiro Hitsugaya, if the dragon inside was sleeping peacefully, and the Soul Reaper alias was taken down, like a flag in mourning? What was he?

A life, just like her.

A decent person, just like her.

A being that lived freely, for that was the meaning of life itself. To live.

And he did not need to willingly search for reasons to be a martyr. That was not his purpose.

_Toshiro…I want ya to stick around for a bit…_

His terse lips conceded his answer.

"I promise you, Karin…I will not throw away my life."

Karin smiled. But the heat finally got to her. Without a chance of muttering, she laid back down, satisfied with his answer, and within minutes…she succumbed to drowsiness, with only Toshiro's closing remark piercing her void.

"Kurosaki…do you know where that-"

Her mind blanked to dreams again. Dreams of a giant wrapped in molten metal, hunched over an anvil, and her prone body laying amidst a platform. Marooned in that dreamscape she was, on an island beleaguered by the bubbling liquid metal…and steady, pacing hammer strikes upon the anvil in the darkness…

All that did not matter to her now.

--

"Kurosaki…do you know where that syringe you had is?" Toshiro asked Karin. In the end, his words seemed to fall on deaf ears, as he looked at her form, and saw that she was inert and asleep again. Her body was half-covered by the bedspread, and she instinctively expanded her limps around, mimicking a little kid in slumber.

_Blast…she is a little kid, I guess…_

Seeing that she had finally fallen asleep, the youngest captain had intended on leaving then, returning to his quest of finding a way to remedy his powers. But something kept him glued to his chair. Maybe it was genuine anxiety, an emotion he would deny himself of feeling until the day he perished. Maybe it was loyalty, for he was always one of the more rank-and-file persons that were employed in the Gotei 13. He was very much befitting of the role of captain, whether he looked it or not. His dedication to his job, and the stability he ensued upon it by his division, was second perhaps only to 1st or 6th division. If Yamamoto stated it, perhaps he would follow through with the orders given…

_Karin…are you right when you said…that if I would gladly die if ordered to? If Captain Yamamoto asked me to die?_

Toshiro banished the thoughts from his head like a wailing banshee. That was poor cognition to possess, wondering the value of the individual over the value of the collective. Even a captain was expendable to the harmony of the Seireitei. The Vaizards of old, for example, three of which were recorded as former captains, now were labeled as fallacious abominations and at best, troublesome vigilantes. The very definition of neutrality, perhaps, as they straddled the fence between hollow and Soul Reaper…The Rukongai and the Seireitei both suffered grievously for the acts and projects of the individual. Toshiro had not died and become a resident of the Rukongai when this happened, alive as Karin was now, but as a member of the academy he had brushed on his history. Even though the implications of this were not printed in onyx bold letters, he had picked up on it. Divergences from the status quo were not tolerated, especially if laden with risk.

_I wonder if Captain Kuchiki has done anything…he seemed a bit reluctant to do anything at the moment…_

Toshiro regained awareness of his sight, and now focused on Karin's sleeping form. He remembered vaguely how she held his hand during their trip to that autumn-themed carnival, and he saw her hand vacant, lonely amidst her sleep.

He reached his hand out to hers…

_What the heck am I doing?!_

Toshiro's reason prompted his rescue. With his lightning cognition he withdrew his hand, just before he could clutch hers in his grasp. He knew that Ichigo would be home soon, and catching him in this room, observing a sleepy Karin like a hawk, would not bode well for his physical well-being. At the same time, he could not bring himself to leave, captivated by her in ways that reawakened his latent memories.

_She looks so…peaceful…_Toshiro thought to himself, as he slouched and observed. He reached his hands out, leaning over, and pulled the covers back up to her neck, before settling back down in his chair. He had said he was going to stick it out…the last thing he wanted was for her to follow him again, if she found out he went back to his training.

_"Remember this, as Charon comes for you: Those without conviction are lost, and those without power are spineless worms. Those with both live as I do, _victorioso_ and grateful of life. Those that have neither, as you so clearly do are…destined to die…like you and I."_

_"Promise me, Toshiro, that you won't get yourself killed like an idiot."_

_Momo…what the heck would you say about this?_

Two paths. Divergences splitting at the bridge of his nose. One issuing his inevitable destruction at the end of a pair of blades. One ending with fogging uncertainty and eye-numbing phantasms.

What path, Captain? What path?

"…I don't care what the damn Canopus freaks say." Toshiro verbally resolved. "I'm not dying for nothing."

Training, and schoolwork (the 10th company captain shuddered involuntarily) could wait. He retained his vigil over his raven-haired friend, counting down the days of the attack.

After some time elapsed, he turned his eyes toward her head, he himself slouched over. There was something, a picture that he had failed to see when he was in here last-when he shared a bed with Karin in his injury. It was of a woman he had seen before, on a mural that the Kurosaki patriarch seemed fond of running to in tears at the most inopportune moments. It was a woman of demure, uncommon beauty, and one which Toshiro assumed to be Isshin's wife…and thus the mother of the three children. However…it occurred to him that he had never actually seen this woman before, for reasons he did not know. He had asked once where this woman was to Ichigo…but the orange-haired youth fell silent, and walked away.

Toshiro stood and grabbed the picture of the woman. There was writing on the back, in Karin's handwriting, he guessed.

"_Mommy."_

"…Is this why?"

Toshiro cast another glance at the sleeping tomboy. A sigh of epiphany escaped his mouth in his realization, before settling itself firm again. Holding the picture in his hands, he found his place in the chair.

He did not leave until Yuzu came home, handing the matters of nurse-maid back to her.

--

_**August 7**__**th**__**-August 12**__**th**__**…**_

Karin woke, but did not know of Toshiro's elongated presence after she fell to unconsciousness. Toshiro himself did not say anything, but chose to show some concern. When she woke the next two days (Yuzu already evacuating to make breakfast) Toshiro had been there, watching, discouraging her from moving too much, and making sure she had some means of tending. Though it was her father and her sister that cared for her physical and medical means, he was there, drawn like a fly for reasons he could not explain. He told her of what he was doing, which the Soul Reapers assigned to him, and she asked of him to be careful, and bring her homework to him.

Yeah, there was no way Isshin was going to let him ditch school a second time, with the clinician practically strong-arming the much smaller Soul Reaper out the door, though chiding something about 'young love' and the like.

August 7th and 8th were the last days of which Karin dealt with this illness. Each day Toshiro came with Yuzu back to the house, and strode to Karin's room immediately upon entering the door. There was a smirk of happiness, at least for him, as she seemed to be in better health by the end of the 8th. She could walk better, even though she still possessed that radical heat emanating from her body. Still, by the 9th, she was able to walk fine, and so she rejoined Toshiro and Yuzu back at school.

The youngest captain tried to forget the upcoming attack as best as he could. He could do little more than what he assigned for Matsumoto and the rest, and so, while he kept tabs on what was going on, he himself tried to be surprisingly normal. Matsumoto, Madarame, Ayasegawa, and Yamada had gotten sharper and stronger in their training. Even better, Ichigo, Sado, and Inoue had further developed their own powers under the tutelage of Urahara. The trio were now capable of manifesting their skills at command instead of in times of deepening stress, and so proved more valuable assets than hindrances. Ichigo now even had his own _zan-pakuto_, acquired by the end of three days, and seemed quite prepared to go to war.

Unfortunately, while the moral of the troops was high, the information was practically nonexistent. Urahara still could not find anything, but corroborated that he noticed several Soul Reapers had gone missing in the last month, on patrols from the Seireitei. Even weirder, the attacks of hollows seemed to start to decline in frequency starting in the middle of June (collaborating with the tape recording of Kokoro Kiiromori), up until now, which hollows themselves hadn't been sighted for two weeks. This bugged Urahara, and he gave Hitsugaya ample warnings in spite of his cheery face. The group called 'Canopus', still remained an unknown, but he told the 10th division captain the origin of the name: Canopus apparently was the second-brightest star in the sky, second only to Sirius.

He found it worthless information, but thanked the mad-cap candy-store owner all the same.

Captain Kuchiki was even worse. He hastily informed him that there were no mentions of Canopus in the archives, but begged Toshiro to leave the communications to a minimum. Apparently, he told Toshiro, there seemed to be something wrong with the Council of 46 elders, and he and Aizen would find out for themselves exactly what the matter was, starting on August 12th. There would be no reinforcements, for there might be something wrong at the home front.

So Toshiro waited, and allowed his time to expire. He looked hurriedly throughout Karin's and Yuzu's room, searching vainly for the blasted syringe which the giant alluded to, but alas there seemed to be nothing. All of his efforts faltered. However, when he asked Karin about it, she suspiciously changed the subject.

He intended to ask her about it again, but every time she seemed to venture away. Indeed, her recovery was miraculous. Whatever the disease that was debilitating to her vigor seemingly gave way to a deluge of new strength. Matsumoto noted to him how she seemed to have higher spiritual pressure than before, (lacking his powers, Toshiro's sensory abilities were as good as Kenpachi Zaraki's) and always seemed a lot hotter when she was around.

"So…Shiro-Chan-" Karin had started in once, as they walked home from school, this time using the monorail tracks as a guide home.

"Yeah?"

"What're you gonna do about tomorrow, anyway?"

Tomorrow, on this particular day, was August the 12th. Toshiro could only shrug. What _could _he do?

"I suppose I'll have to go to school with you." The 10th captain responded.

"But don't you-"

"You asked me not to get myself killed, right?" Toshiro remarked a bit too sharply.

Karin blushed slightly at being reminded. "U-uh, yeah."

"If I go with Matsumoto and your brother, I'll just be a hindrance. Hyourinmaru still isn't responding to my calls, and even so…the freaks will find me. The giant stated my spiritual pressure was messed up, so he could find me. And Bloodswerth…well, he's found me before. I'm still going to have someone with me, like before. They have designated me their target, Karin. I'm not running away."

"Remember. You promised!"

"You said not for me to get killed. You didn't say anything about going to school." Toshiro said quietly. "I'll fight all the same."

There said not much else said, besides the usual banter. Toshiro had enough on his plate. Karin deliberately forcing herself onto it was worse and weighing it more.

Still, when he finally fell to slumber, still situated on the couch, Toshiro could only wonder, before his dreams could take hold of him…What path?

A captain needs his council. He was grateful to have gotten it from his friend.

"Karin…"

He drifted to the dreamscapes, firmly aware of the possibility that he could very well see his end tomorrow. Amidst the loafing couch and flannel patterned quilt…he knew that. But then again, as his mouth yawned open…that was something every solider faced.

The king got his council. Now all the pieces were firmly on the board.

--

End Chapter.


	9. Chapter 9: March Hare

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. Got it? The only matters of my ownership are the members of Canopus and the plot itself.

Without further ado, let us continue on with the story, eh? This one is a bit longer than the rest, so bear with me. There will be times when Toshiro or Karin are not the main focus, placed into limited third-person perspective, but its necessary.

_**Chapter 9: March Hare**_

_**--**_

_**August 12**__**th**__**, early morning…**_

The day commenced as any day of routine would. The birds sang their same songs, perching in their same nests, in their same trees. Alarm clocks went off in varied sirens with the same shill beeping that woke their owners, no matter who they were. Coffee pots boiled and brimmed and dripped, expectant of their owners partaking of their caffeine-rich ecstasy. Shops, fresh from the cleanings of yesterday and spared the random burglaries that tempt ordinary men to greed, opened with a humble splendor, each hoping to trade their fortunes today, as any other day. School cars from parents and students alike wrestled the throes of lingering sleep from eyes and engines, coaxed at times and forced at others to move and work to their responsibilities: For the cars, it was merely a striking by a driver's foot and occasional soothing words. For the students, it was a loud reprimand from a virago parent, bellowing at the top of (most likely) her lungs, and ordering the poor child to prepare for the day's education.

Indeed, this clockwork routine, of preparing for another day and believing it was merely another day, was smeared as axle grease on a wheel on the faces of the normal populace. For this languid, sheep-like mentality was preferable to the other emotion: Paranoia. If panic be permitted to take refuge in the hearts of men, women, and children, how could anything function? Like blood vessels, they must be allowed to work no matter what ill happening could be brewing around the corner. The janitor is always needed, even if the world is about to end.

Because of the early morning, few were awake to see the unusual trio wandering down the main streets of Mashiba. If one had a compass, one could see the three traveling due east. Only the carnival-workers, now putting their booths and their attractions up in unending supplies of tents, caught sight of them, and they, with their crescent-moon and burning sun masks, found the trio as unusual as they themselves. The workers of a carnival, named jesters or harlequins if one might, caroused to their strangeness. Thus, they found the trio most strange as they, and so appraised them.

Of course, they were not mind readers. And so, they could neither know what they were doing at 6:12 in the morning, nor what they actually were. They could only know what they say with their own eyes, in accordance with solipsism. They could also catch what they were saying…

"I needa cigar, Takumi. Ya got 'un?" A massive, wide-berthed giant, dressed in an engulfing trench coat, as a smaller man. He lumbered forth with each step, perhaps oblivious to the footprints he was accidentally creating in the concrete asphalt.

The smaller man politely scolded the giant. "Ortiz. Why do you even need cigars? They are bad for you, and considering your condition-"

"Condition Schition. Loon me uh cigar." the giant asked again.

The third man, trailing behind them said nothing.

To a casual observer, the trio did not appear different than anyone else, though each of them dressed radically from the others. The giant, with his trench coat and wide-brimmed hat and unusual mittens, seemed hard pressed to hide something from onlookers, though if it was his bulk or his accent, he was failing miserably. The second man, much more petite and smaller than the giant, carried each step with a trace of dignity, belying a politeness and gentility that contradicted his locks of pink hair. Though casual observers would hereby question a man's orientation or levels of rebellion by the drastic, loud color, his body language put that aside. Each step, each swing of the arm, was taken with a carefulness rivaling a Hindu's concern for his brethren, as if worried of harming the very bodiless winds. His clothes were simple, much less eye-catching than his flowing bangs of hot pink, with a simple white shirt embroidered with a blazing star, and blue, zippers-at-the-sides pants. His face was also of a genteel, almost naïve beauty, with a smile that was genuine and eyes that flickered with candle-life worry. One could easily proclaim to his fellows, by looking at the petite man and the radiating positive energy in his aura, that this man meant no ill will, and his fellows could believe it on first impressions alone.

The third individual, hanging back from either "Ortiz" or "Takumi" was also the personification of youth, though he looked the most inconspicuous of the three. His hair was a normal color of brown, shaved low in a crew cut. His ears were besieged by massive headphones, blasting hard rock and hallelujahs, while condemning his ears to an early silence. His hands found hibernation in the pockets of his blue vest, but while his vest was clean, his black, roguish pants were uncomprehendingly shabby and askew, as if never gracing a Laundromat in its shelf-life. His sandals were out of place, revealing small feet, but what was dooming to gather more attention than his dirty pants, his white head band, his crew cut, or the permanent look of boredom on his face, was his sword, bouncing loosely at his waist. An appraiser or blacksmith otaku effortlessly could identify the type of blade as a bastard sword, though it seemed tarnished, and melded of jaundiced copper instead of healthier steel.

"Dag'nabit Takumi, I sayed I needa cigar! Loon me 'un!"

"I don't have any…and we've wasted enough time as it is. You spent forty minutes searching for cigars before we left."

"Quit yer complainin'. Y'used the time anyway. Tried to talk to Big Bro' to help us, eh?"

The pink-haired man only shook his mane. "Sadly, he refused. My brother doesn't do anything unless it benefits himself in some way. He doesn't care about no-name Soul Reapers…and Captain Hitsugaya is claimed by Janus anyway."

"Heh. I know. That's what w'ar here for! And this little dolly…'ill help out a lot."

The giant in the trench coat hoisted a box that he had been carrying, larger and wider than either of his companions. It had a simple, circular seal on the front: a sigil which one half was the image of a purple-colored brain, while the other half resembled a horse head. The coin round-odd symbol represented the only mark on the box. The rest was a solid black, dark and consuming of light.

"It's inevitable that we'll have a confrontation with the Soul Reapers. Everything must go all as plan…and if anything will rupture those plans, it is either my big brother or Captain Hitsugaya's continued existence. It pains me." The smaller Takumi muttered. "My brother is the warrior."

"R'lax, already! Sheesh! Ya ain't gonna havta keell 'im, not wit' me in yer corner! I'll give 'is glass chin a one-two punch, and BOOM!! Lights out! Game O'ver!"

Ortiz the giant, uncaring or unnoticing enough to register the stares he received as he pantomimed the supposed boxing finish, boomed loudly. His massive feet smashed into the hardened concrete, leaving the ominous footprints that were more in relation to a dinosaur than a man. His two smaller compatriots only shot scolding glances at him, and the rear guard in his blue vest finally spoke up.

"Know how Naikao's doing?" His voice was more quiet and withered, easily lost in the largo earthquake of his ally's bass, if one was not listening for it. Be as that may, Takumi the Pink-haired turned to address him.

"He has his own divergence to deal with. No one suspects him yet…if the venerable Captain-Commander is in the dark about his plot, then everyone else is."

"Ah…smarty-pants? Sheesh, Sum Mannus! Speak up!" Ortiz rudely interrupted. "Carry my friggin' load if ya wanna be useful." The giant bellowed in a metallic echo and a drawl between.

"I'll refrain from speaking on it, anymore then." The head-phoned youth responded. "We have reinforcements, even without your brother and Naikao, right, Takumi?"

"If you suspect that wild card…forget it. He's obsessed." Takumi shook his head, again as if weighing a vile act that he might've been able to avoid. "We have some help, but none stronger than Ortiz here. They'll arrive on their own time."

"…Ok." Sum Mannus stated firmly, before vanishing into his booming, pop-rock music.

"Ha ha ha! D'here's gonna be sum fuuun, today!! I haven't felt like this since 'Nam! Ha! When School's out…the beatings begin! Gra ha ha!!"

"Pipe it down, Ortiz! Here, if I give you a cigar-"

"Ya lyin' cheat! Ya sayed ya didn't have any!"

"I'm trying to curb your habit." The smaller man quietly answered, before producing the desired item. Without giving a thank you, the giant grabbed the cigar, and stuffed it in the abyss that was his shrouded face.

"That will kill you, if you keep-"

"Wrong un dat count, judge." Ortiz said plainly, before marching forward.

With this, the trio fell into silence. Despite their unusual attire, no one took great notice of them, and so left them alone. No one thus called the cops, and thus a disaster that could have been avoided was not.

The peculiar trio faded into the mundane gravity of the morning, and would not be missed again until the ending school bell.

--

When anticipating inevitable doom, when expecting the Grim Reaper, or a shimigami ironically to step up and knock on your front porch, the perception of normalcy is perhaps even more horrifying than the distorted, corrupted desolation. When expecting doom, one can expect crevasses miles long and wasteland to emphasize that loneliness and destruction. However, when one is presented with the opposite in that inevitable scenario…when frilling, frolicking fantasy and bright, melon colors are shown on the Reaper's clothes, instead of the ebon satchel and intimidating _zan-pakuto _of a typical reaper…the matter is even more flaying on the psyche. It is wrong, when one knows and feels in his heart that something bad is going to happen, and instead of being supported of this assumption with environmental clues, it is disproved, staunchly and radically. There is no nuclear wasteland, but the very bounty of life. There is no mourning seers and worried relatives, only fools that parade the necessities of positive energy and flamboyance.

This perception, the fair Eden that so contradicts and seduces us from steadfast defense…is so dangerous, more so than one can ever realize. It is the lull that prompts, preludes, before the crippling surprise. It is the anomaly that crashes into and eradicates carefully planned strategies. It is the devourer of hope, that lies on the fringes of imagination, and thus cuts one's legs completely away with axe-sized teeth. And it looks as innocent and inviting as a nymph, a fairy, or a raven-haired girl with an attitude as persistent as a mosquito.

For one who fought with a clear distinction of description between good and evil, where the former resembles himself and the latter is grotesquely distorted into monstrous pastels, The innocent evil is far more dangerous than he'd like to admit. For it does more than just the aforementioned.

If confronted with the hypnotic, innocent, deceitful evil…live or die, it destroys trust, sundering it to glacier-sized pieces, before melting in the burning anger that follows.

It was at times like this that Toshiro Hitsugaya wished he still lived in his peaceable Elysium, locked away with his Granny and Hinamori Momo. At least he could be truthfully a kid, even if he was living longer than any venerable man. The responsibilities of a captain proved at times to weigh heavily on his small shoulders, and more than once he dreamed of being free. Alas, such was not his lot. He woke up on that anticipated moment like a child on Christmas Day, expecting a suitable macabre Santa Claus to his dour expectancies. He was awake long before Isshin touched down, bounding as he had usually for the past weeks in his morning rituals, though the white-haired captain hid his mindfulness under his massive borrowed quilts. Half-expecting a pallid-skinned man in a tuxedo to peel his covers back and stab him with a saber, it was instead a bellowing, middle-aged man with a touch of goofy extravagance.

"DEAR SON-IN-LAW!! HOW ARE-" Isshin did not get a chance to finish, as the perpetually active Ichigo halted his sentence with a rather boisterous lariat worthy of a wrestler.

"OW! My son! Why don't you respect yout elders!?"

"Because you're too loud." Ichigo responded without thinking.

Toshiro could only roll his eyes at the correctness of his statement, and quickly vacated the couch that was his bed (the youngest captain refused still to share a room with Ichigo, as their relationship was sour enough). Living in this house for the extended period that he had taught him that nothing moved at a predestined pace. Everything was driven with chaos oiled in the cogs. Not used to that mindset in the least, even now, Toshiro made a point to evacuate before the father and son dissolved into a wrestling rewind, and he having to referee.

He realized only when he finally reached the upstairs bathroom to brush his teeth that he had forgotten to correct the Kurosaki patriarch for calling him "son-in-law".

Of course, his mind was still focused on other things…and there was the case of Matsumoto suddenly popping her head in the window without-

"Matsumoto. What are you doing?"

"Checking on my captain!" She responded with a cheeriness that mirrored his sour face. "Like the pajamas, by the way."

"If you tell anyone in Soul Society-_especially _the other Captains- about this wardrobe malfunction I've had to endure, I'll bury you in paperwork for the next six months. And I'll take your sake. All of it."

"Ouch, Captain!" The buxom lieutenant responded in good jest more than worry. Not that Hitsugaya could disagree. There was no feasible way he could locate all her blasted sake stashes…

"So…why did you come?" Toshiro asked again. "This family can easily see you. And I'd rather not have to explain _you _to that oddball…"

"Oh, you know me!" Matsumoto again pried on, with a sugary sweetness more reserved for dolls than living creatures. "Everyone seems anxious to stick something in your head, so I'm here to make sure I stick mine in theirs!"

"……You had guard duty?"

"No. Actually, Yumichika and I want to visit this nice little salon on the corner downtown and-"

"Matsumoto!" Toshiro halted her, trying to regain both a hold on the conversation and the toothbrush he was supposed to be using. "You know it's a gamble to take a guy at his word, when he won't even show his face."

"I know! If I could've found him, I could've…you know…_plucked _some tidbits from him, but," the strawberry-blond emphasized verbally with her curves, and her assets, as she made her point. "But you siad he was gone before I got there."

"You still haven't answered the question."

"Captain!" Matsumoto pouted, as if wanted to resume the banter more to evade work than endure the lectures of her captain. "Oh, fine. If anyone's gonna get attacked, its gonna be you, Captain. Might as well watch you to keep the oddballs away."

Toshiro let out a harrumph. Distaste and the prolonged frustration of his lack of powers filtered his mouth and tongue, and he wanted to spit it into the sink. Instead, Toshiro settled for something else. "Be alert, Matsumoto. Remember that these are not hollows. They seemed to have us scouted, and we don't have a clue what we're up against yet."

His countenance was of a solemn, saturnine seal of stone, and amidst his ordering, he pushed another enigma into his head; Why was he so important, anyway? He was not the strongest captain. That belonged to Yamamoto. Nor did he have much of the expertise and expanded repertoire of other captains, like Zaraki's battle prowess, Soi Fong's practical stealth abilities, Kurotchuri's emphasis on science, and Unohana's medical libraries (those libraries being locked inside her head). What set him apart from everyone else…?

"Matsumoto. Is Ayasegawa with you, or Madarame?"

"Oh, both of them."

"I need you to contact Kurotchuri. If you get Kuchiki again, force him to get Kurotchuri. Blackmail him, if you have to."

"Okay…I think I may have something on him…"

"Dare I even ask?" The youngest captain's response was rhetorical. He knew Matsumoto was going to continue, and for once, he was grateful of her gravitation to gossip. Yes, if one thing could get Kuchiki to fold like a house of cards, it was potential scandal, and assuredly, his curvaceous lieutenant would have an answer.

"Well…I got some pictures of him meeting with 3rd seat Kiyone Kotetsu before you got sent out…"

Hitsugaya's face drained of color. If she could get dirt on Kuchiki, then…

"Matsumoto. Let me repeat this. If you tell anyone in the Seireitei about these," Toshiro motioned with his unused toothbrush to his cartoonish pajamas, "I will not fire you, but when I'm through, you'll be begging for me to release you."

"Ah, but those look so cute on you…"

"Matsumoto." Toshiro fixed her with a frown of ice, his teal eyes becoming spears. "I have enough embarrassment to deal with just with the loss of my powers. That being said, I want you to speak with Kurotschuri about it. See if he can come up with a way to reverse it."

"And what're you going to do?" Matsumoto asked, her beaming face already confident of the answer. Toshiro grabbed the toothpaste of the sink, and made to answer, before a yelling from the other side of the door interrupted them.

"Yo! Shiro-Chan! Hurry up in there! We all gotta get to school, not just Mr. High-and-Mighty!!"

It was the rebel Karin again. Figures. She was proving less and less of being a morning person.

Toshiro frowned at the widening smile on his lieutenant's face.

"That answers your question?" Toshiro said in exasperation.

As said, normalcy on D-Day will let your guard down. The ice-master captain would rather fight with his dragon on the eve of battle than worry about eating breakfast and dental hygiene.

Another reprimanding look sent Matsumoto away. It was obvious that he was going to propose more paperwork at this rate, when he got back to his office.

If he survived.

--

_**August 12**__**th**__**, 2:00-3:00 p.m…**_

Karin was not the most observant of girls. Being the total antithesis to what the stereotypical female was, it was inevitable that the darker-haired Kurosaki twin would assimilate several male attributes to emphasized her effeminateness. She reasoned that simply being so focused on a matter of impending doom would snub any chances of future survival as it was, without even putting up a fight, and if anyone knew Karin, she was somewhat of a raging bull. She was capable of shutting a number of details out to expunge the affair at hand.

However, she was by no means ignorant. She could tell when things were out of the status quo, though not necessarily why the fluctuation existed in the first place. A reader of differences she was: A reader of minds she was not. She had no interest being like the people of Hiroshima, who were oblivious to the sudden oblong object of annihilation that descended from the sky, as if a celestial force dropped it on them. She had no desire to be like the citizens of Pearl Harbor either, who were enjoying a casual day on their island paradise before suffering ravishment by shrapnel, explosions, and turret guns. Though Toshiro perhaps could better describe the situation, Karin herself could compare the ordinary school day (she had to take a test on History, of all things) to the prior two situations: Days that started out normally, but spirally into days of infamy and revilement.

_Damn, _Karin cursed inwardly,_ I really need to play again._

She turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of "Shiro-Chan", who was probably suffering from the weight of waiting worse than anyone. He had been delegated as the target after all, like the deer in the hunter's scope. Indeed, the weight of the whole affair-him losing his powers, having to explain his embarrassment, and then being attacked twice by a certified psycho-seemed to stoop his shoulders, as they were now. His face seemed colored of fatigue, and his face resumed the usual, scowling posture. Karin knew how Toshiro acted in the classroom by now. He ignored everyone save her and Yuzu, and that was because they were friends. But the captain of the 10th division paid little heed to the drowning drones of the factious teacher, and paid even less attention to the other members of the class. Girls, ironically, seemed to make him uncomfortable. Within the first three days he had been approached by a number of the female classmates, each asking Toshiro questions in hushed privacy. What they were, Karin did not know, but the snow-haired kid always walked away from each rendezvous with a flushed face and a flustered disposition completely out of touch with his cold personality.

Another telling of how badly the waiting was getting to Toshiro: He was actually converging his attention on the class work (being simple long division), his pencil scribbling through each problem swiftly and with the rush of a coyote. The fact he was trying to find a sanitarium in mathematics only bold-faced the situation.

_Darn, Toshiro…You really need to clear out your head._

Of course, he was doing a lot better job that she was on the current predicament. Math, and a fair share of other academics, were not her forte. Toshiro seemed to get through the subject as effortlessly as breathing, despite him being obviously occupied. More than once Karin wanted to see what his answers were, but she knew that _he _would know, and so she turned back to her own work.

_Man…There's supposed to be a doomsday today, and I get stuck with this…_

Karin chanced a glance behind her, now observing the two soul reapers in the very back of the dainty classroom. Toshiro apparently wasn't taking chances, with what small clues he had. As everyone in their group knew, he was the primary target. Eventually, they (whoever they are) would come to him. So, at the moment of closest proximity, Ikkaku Madarame and Hanataro Yamada were placed in the far back, looking relatively bored as they watched their captain. At least Ikkaku was, his normally lopsided grin slotted to a frown of indifference. His _zan-pakuto _laid stolid in his lap, and his hands seemed itching for some action to cut the doldrums. Hanataro was the complete opposite, but then again, from what Karin had heard, this was understandable. Hanataro was the first person to acquire a gigai, and it had been a rather grievous error on his person. Having been hounded by young women who deemed him 'cute', the 4th division member, according to the laughing accounts of Ikkaku and Yumichika, had been caught and manhandled by droves of the female gender. Needless to say, after being suffocated several times by a flood of girls, the rather meek healer implied a rather happier breath…as if he enjoyed his space now.

Karin rolled her eyes at his genuine smile, and tried again to dig an answer out of the equation.

She locked an accusing glare at the clock above her, trying to force it forward with her will so that she could avoid this for now, saving it for homework if she could. She really did not want to deal with the basics of division today. She wanted to at least kick the ball around a bit…

_Did those guys lie? I mean…if they were really serious about attacking Shiro-chan, wouldn't they already done it?_

Karin tried to squeeze her pencil, trying to materialize her loathing of the villain inscribed before her.

And then…as the clock ticked farther down…Hiroshima hit. Not as the old bomb of notoriety, with sudden impact, but with a subterfuge that mimicked and preceded assassination. It was a psychic bomb, thus only one that those blessed and cursed with that gift could actually feel it.

It was not in the way that Karin would've anticipated, and as she bolted upright, with the chilling, withering, decaying vapor pouring into her mouth and orifices…she knew she was but one of few to feel it. Behind her, she heard a subtle noise of Toshiro, twitching his head like a mouse before the cat. His hand reached into his pocket, as Karin turned around to see his reaction, trying to keep her composure as best she could. The vapor that she felt (for 'vapor' was the best noun she could use to describe it)…beyond familiar it was for her. Many times she had felt it, each time playing havoc on her digestive system and making her brother disappear without a word. Each time she felt it…it was the herald to a monster or monsters, torn from nightmares without direction or cause or proper adherence of anatomy. A gnashing piccolo to her drum-oriented ears, Karin felt the presence enter her senses like a fog. It was clammy and filled with squalid dirt, the kind one would associate with sulfur and old cemeteries, which perforated into her body. Sure enough, as in the past, the atrocious medley of aberration manifest played an ill reception on her stomach, and she lurched forward, tightening down her teeth and jaw in preparation for the rancid flood. She could feel her face scrounge up in anticipation of the appalling messenger, and once again she cursed her high sixth sense. Save for Toshiro, whose face was a mix of shock and anger, none of the other kids nor the teacher took notice of the phenomenon, of the invisible happening. She forced her head to look behind her, and gauged the bald Ikkaku and the meek Hanataro's reactions. The 3rd seat of 11th company grinned maniacally, like an exorcist who enjoyed his job a little too much. Hanataro, like Toshiro, grabbed a cell phone from his sable kimono, and audibly gulped. His hands resumed shaking, as he fiddled for his medicine bag lumped around his shoulders.

Toshiro stood up without reason, and Karin could hear, amidst the groaning and rumbling of her belly, the reprimands of her stuck-up, brown-nose teacher.

"Mr. Hitsugaya! Please sit down! You are disrupting class!" Karin vaguely recorded the uppity call.

"…." Toshiro did not deign an answer, instead looking at Karin, then his phone, and then to the unseen Ikkaku and Hanataro. The snow-peaked captain nodded once, before the teacher, now livid at being ignored, bellowed again.

"Mr. Hitsugaya! Please sit down, or I'll have you escorted to the principal's office! Class does not end for another forty minutes." Her voice was a stigma to Toshiro, obviously, but to Karin it was siege on her infirmity. The darker-haired twin could feel bile building in the back of her throat, and her stomach continued in its merry game of water-polo. Her calloused hand reached up to shield her mouth, for she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back the gates that were her teeth anymore.

Karin managed one last look behind her, getting both a look at Toshiro and eyeing the departure of Ikkaku and Hanataro. Rather, one might say that the bald 3rd Seat was leaving with the flailing Hanataro _on his shoulders_. Still, they fitted out of the window, and ventured out to attack the invaders familiar. Toshiro was indeed important, but they were all Soul Reapers. The threat infringing upon them was one that needed to be stamped out, and all of them knew why.

Her gaze turned to Toshiro, and he saw what agony she was going through. She imagined that the color had drained out of her face, and the youngest captain found himself raising his hand.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Hitsugaya? What rabble do you wish to institute now?"

"Kurosaki's sick, sir." Toshiro responded with restrained politeness. Karin tried to smirk. Respect for his elders was there, but who knew how old Toshiro actually was, if he was dead?

"Oh?"

"Requesting permission to escort her to the nurse's office." Toshiro again stated, much like a military soldier to his supposed commander.

The bulbous woman only looked a bit puzzled, but waved them off. A ways away, Karin spotted her sister Yuzu, who was looking concerned herself. The golden-haired sibling mouthed 'what's wrong, Karin?', but she herself was feeling the pressure build. Toshiro took her by the hand, and guided her out, neither making a word or sound…save the bemoaning of her toad-like stomach.

"You feel it." It was not a question, as he quietly led her down the corridor. Karin had an epiphany, comparing her sickened plight to Toshiro's impotence, and sympathized with him.

"Y-yes."

"You sure its not a relapse?" Toshiro asked, referring to her equivocal condition a week ago.

"Darnit no, Shiro-Chan!" Karin forced her mouth open briefly, and quickly shut it. She did not want to risk her potential embarrassment, even if the locker-lined hallway was deserted.

"Its Hitsugaya." Toshiro responded automatically, more saying it out of habit than out of actual disgust. "When the day is over, I'll see what I can do to help you…of all the days for this to happen…"

Karin looked at Toshiro, and noticed how he leered away from her, his eyes and face sharpened with agitation. Obviously, he had not anticipated this anymore than she, but still…absence can make even the most disciplined lax.

"The hollows finally showed up. Just what I need…" Toshiro muttered coherently.

Then, the pressure got too much for her. Karin, while possessive of strong will, was still just an eleven-year old kid, and so stamina was not as great as the desire and will within. The leeching, scratching, contaminating aura of the hollows struck her brain, and she was released herself from Toshiro grip. Running with all the latent abilities her soccer fanaticism granted her, she located the nearest commode, and swooned into it, the burning bile making waves after waves.

After some minutes of passing, the darker-haired Kurosaki regained her composure, her faithless body finishing its first wave of pestilent floods. Toshiro stood outside, a poster boy for impatience, and reclaimed Karin's hand.

"C'mon. I'm going to see if I can get you home."

Karin made to halt him, to say she could finish out the day, but her gullet and the moans of her stomach again signaled another attack. In spite of her wounded pride, she stopped her disagreement, shifting only slightly as his other hand took her by the shoulder to steady her. Silence befell them, with only the ticking clock, the rumbling stomach, and the raking, ambling, toxic atmosphere that only they, the spiritually aware could sense, to accompany them down the mundane halls. The silence, though normally a strong annoyance to the extroverted Karin, was somewhat welcome now, in her moment of vulnerability. She was grateful that no one saw her like that. Dignity was something she'd like to keep in high supply.

"Thanks, Toshiro."

The boy genius did not reply to her admission of gratitude, instead turning his head away. If Karin didn't know better, and her stamina was draining her legs again, she would bet he was blushing.

In the end, she just wanted to get through the day. Nothing was occurring, and now she was sick. Again.

_Crap, can this get any worse?_

--

_**August 12**__**th**__**, nearly 3:00...**_

Unbeknownst to the customary eye, the ones designed for the regular and not for the spiritually acute, peril came much quicker and stealthier than any one could've perceived. Perhaps due to their own attention to the normalcy of their lives, passersby and commoners failed to make real notice of the events that were happening in their midst. Only the spiritually aware, those blessed and cursed with gifts of a psychic, could tell for sure exactly what happened, from beginning to end. To others, it was simply a series of catastrophe built upon one another, but without a logical prime mover to account for their occurrences.

Thus, it fell to the Soul Reapers and their allies to pick out exactly what exactly was going on.

Ichigo Kurosaki was the first one to arrive at the scene of the spiritual pressure rise, and even for one with lackluster spiritual senses, even he could pinpoint the problem's location, sitting in his classroom and scuffing over his studies. The aura, so familiar to him by now, nipped and bit at the back of his neck, licking with a dog's tongue that chilled his spine. Had it been one hollow or a series of weak ones, Ichigo would never have sensed it (due in part to his own radiant spiritual pressure). But this one was…one might say dyed, to where it held almost a putrid taste in the air. Of course, Rukia, who was with him in class, fumbled for her phone and, after checking, gave him the thumbs-up. The raven-haired girl bore her face much grimmer than usual, and nonverbally told her partner of the problem: That there were no just strong hollows, but many of them.

Ichigo steeled himself, nodding as well as if accepting his destiny. He turned to his friends in the classroom, that also happened to be spiritually aware. The giant Chad Yasutora, the cold Uryu Ishida, and the bubbly Orihime Inoue. Mouthing 'hollow' to his psychic comrades, he raised his hand to his teacher, and quickly ran out with his excuse: That he needed to 'relieve' himself. Soon after he left, hustling out of the school and shifting into his soul reaper garb, the quartet that had helped him before in hollow extermination followed suit, though separately to avoid scrutiny (Tomorrow, one Keigo Asano would interrogate three of the four, but his efforts were destined to be halted by the brunt of Ichigo's fist). Thus now in the afternoon sun, the trio prepared themselves as they were to be, for while they had been expecting a big battle with another enemy, overconfidence would doom any excursion.

So thus, as Uryu summoned both his regal Quincy wardrobe, Orihime her six fairies, Ichigo his cleaver-like Zangetsu, and Chad the armlet destroyer on his right arm, the quintet ran to where the fighting was located. Due south-west, to the Mashiba district, where, due to the fact that school technically was still in…the crowds were a bit thinned. There were the usual stranglers that had idle time on their hands…the homeless, the school-dropouts, the gang-members, and those that simply were off…but there were also those that rushed as they were doing (and trying to be discreet about). Eventually, as they passed healthy stores and noisy streets, with clockwork streetlights and vindictive patrol officers…the center of their concerns became apparent, with the atmosphere now becoming more and more saturated with the depraved pollen of the Hollows.

They eventually found a stopping point, a place where all the hollows seemed to surround. On top of sky scrapers, fat little warehouse stores of regal décor, and particularly a two-story, rectangular bank which read in gilded letters, "Mashiba First", the hollows swarmed above and around. They were hollows, indeed, holding the necessary taxonomic attributes to classify them as hollows. There were holes in their chests and there were masks over their faces, true, but as per with creatures of ectoplasmic make-up, the similarities stopped with those few joining characteristics. They were of every make and model, of every citizen of the phylum _Chordate_ and even more than that. Ichigo quickly placed the count of all that he could see: No fewer than sixteen different goliaths of blackest ichors met his eyes, and with a furrowed brow he noticed something else, something that the townsfolk could see and chose not to study, or could not see at all. It was a sight all too familiar to Ichigo himself, though everyone else paid more heed to the threat apparent than the threat hiding in plain sight.

Standing on the marble steps leading to the doors of Mashiba First Bank, was a giant of a person, though one could not tell the sex due to his massive, swarthy trench coat. He wore a brown wide-brimmed hat that cast an eclipse over his face, so that one would have to be impolitely close to get a glimpse at his visage. The dark shroud over his face aside, one could tell that he had a mouth at least, for a cocky cigar, lit and puffing smoke rings into the air, laid perched between his invisible lips. His massive hands concealed themselves in his devouring pockets, but Ichigo had seen this corpulent giant once before. He had seen, even with mittens on the gargantuan stranger's hands, those mitts were huge, easily able to rival and surpass Chad's. Ichigo involuntarily recoiled as he saw the footprints of the man, obvious even in the urban wilderness. As if in perfect proportion to accommodate his ludicrous size, foot-shaped cracks in the ground lead to where the giant was standing, each step dropping to the ankle and leaving a nice mold in the concrete like a mammoth's foot. Tracing the foot pattern, Ichigo saw how the path did not end, that it continued on down the concrete sidewalk…never stopping, until reaching his current spot on the bank.

"Ichigo?" Rukia called him out of his reverie. Her leg was cocked up, as if intending to unload on a very gentle area of the body.

Ichigo recovered himself quickly on that realization, and brought his _zan-pakuto _to stance.

"Rukia. Stand behind me. Everyone! Move out!"

Like soldiers in a platoon, the quartet that could fight moved out. Even though it was broad daylight, and there were people all over the place still, and Ishida, Inoue, and Yatsora could still be seen, the threat of the hollows was simply to be to ignore. Hence, they rushed forward, each bearing their own weapon, and preparing their own attack.

The hollows had more bark than bite, and if anything was frightening about them, once one observed and got over their appearance, one merely had to perceive their numbers as detrimental. After that…they were just fodder. Ichigo's Zangetsu sliced through Hollow after hollow, crumbling each to annihilation as his blade eagerly yet demurely bit into the hollows masks. Orihime stood at the back, firing her fairy Tsubaki when she could, to sunder apart whatever hollow came near her. At the same time, the buxom, bubbly school girl paid attention to her friends, shielding them from sides which they could not defend. Chad, with his lumbering strength and amplified arm, punched his way through the monstrous hollows like a battering ram, each blow registering on the Richter Scale as it penetrated another hollows face. Lastly, Uryu Ishida, his aura taking a rather murderous gleam, fired his spirit arrows, again supplying the guile of a sniper as his melee allies Chad and Ichigo sliced through the opposition.

Two more spiritual pressures were felt, hanging from the air, as the quintet looked up. However, these were allies, as Ichigo couldn't help but smirk. Gliding into their company with _zan-pakuto _in hand, maniacal smile on face, and a shrieking Hanataro Yamada on his shoulder came Ikkaku Madarame. A lecher for battle and one who would rather solve his problems with his knuckles than with his shiny head, the 3rd seat officer dove into a particularly big mess of hollows, shouting his war cry and flailing his spear-type Hozukimaru. More than one hollow sounded its death wail, and mingling with those abyssal throes was Hanataro's panicked screams. Why Ikkaku would not set down the 4th company Soul Reaper evaded all reason, but the gleeful laughs of the bald Soul Reaper only dissuaded any objections, as the slaughter continued.

It was, Ichigo thought to himself, almost too easy. Painstakingly too easy. How long ago was it that the first hollows were mountains? These hollows, perhaps in the past, would have been a threat. But as his cleaver _zan-pakuto_ slashed and sundered shadowy flesh and ivory mask, purifying souls with each twist of its edge, Ichigo noticed how the numbers seemed to dwindle and swell chaotically. He also noticed, as he turned his body to evade a bear-like hollow, how the giant in the trench coat leaned next to an unusual box as big as him (we mean Ichigo) which pulsated with a shadow similar to Zangetsu's energies, and had some weird seal on the front, partially brain and partially horse.

What shocked him next was that from that shimmering black box was that a hollow, just after he cut the bear-hollow accosting him, that bore a different description, different size, and different mask.

"What the?!"

The giant did nothing, but held his cigar with a calculating interest.

Apparently, this truth did not go unnoticed. Ichigo was smart, but Uryu was way smarter. Even as the hollows continued to fall, part by Ichigo's blade and part by Chad's burly fists, the nerdy-looking Quincy aimed his bow amid the anarchy, and fired it twice in quick succession, over the substitute soul reaper's shoulder. The first shot struck true, hitting the weird seal with a pinpoint, surgical precision. The second soared at the giant, and amazingly the giant leapt to the side swiftly, creating both another dent in the concrete and registering a 2.5 on the Richter Scale with his landing.

"Damn!" Came the drawl from the giant, much different than the voluminous bass Ichigo expected. Without a second thought, he slammed his mitten-covered mitt into the seal on the box.

What happened next again, Ichigo had never seen before or heard of, but he was reminded interestingly of Yuzu's vacuuming on the weekend. The aggressing hollows, their zoological make ranging across the spectrum, halted instantly, whether in air or on ground, and like dust before the suction of a vacuum hose, the large creatures of ill will and shadowstuff were sucked into the box, shrinking to fit into an impossible space. The box next to the giant only remained still as a wall, as it embroiled the rogue hollows into its void, draining them until there were no more left…

Just them, the psychics, the soul reapers, and the giant with his box.

"Damn." The giant stated again. He held his cigar in his oversized hand again, and shook his massive head. His voice was accented to Ichigo, as if a foreigner, but the orange-haired Soul Reaper couldn't help but notice an echo in his voice…as if he was speaking into a metal tube. "Damn, yer really sumthin'. Betta than I hoped. But…" The giant took a pull of his cigar, and again cradled it into his gargantuan hand. "Yer sloppy, Joes."

It was Rukia who stepped in first, pushing her way past the others.

"Who are you? Explain yourself!"

The giant didn't respond. In face he practically ignored her, his head turning to overlook them all. Then his head turned up to the sky, as if aware of something, but simultaneous still holding to his apathy.

"Excuse me! Mister!" Now Orihime called out. Her normal politeness mixed with hurriedness as she tried to get the giant's attention.

Still, despite this, the unnamed giant kept his eyes to the sky, spying something worthy of interest. Ichigo quickly realized that there was indeed something he was watching. From the sky, in the direction which the trench-coated brute's head pointed at, a pair of spiritual pressures bubbled up. Looking at their little group, the substitute soul reaper realized it was Matsumoto and Ayasegawa, coming somewhat late. He supposed late was better than never, and with the whole lot of them here, perhaps he could get some answers.

"'Bout time." The giant muttered. "I on'y got two things t'do today: Smoke cigars an' kick ass. An' I'm down t'my last two Cubans."

Ichigo formed the center of a wedge, with his friends at his back. Rukia, not a part of this hastily made formation, backed her partner at the rear, while Chad and Ikkaku stood on either side of the orange-haired desperado, their weapons at the ready. At their sides, Uryu and Orihime stood, as more comfortable at the back row than the front. Hanataro, after finally being released by the bald maniac that was his own teammate, ran away from the battlefield, aware that his talents would not be as useful at this moment.

"Rukia asked you a question." Ichigo commanded, his voice a lot stronger than his oblivious mind was. "I suggest you answer."

"Oh?" The giant drawled out, the mechanical taint not unnoticed. "Ya sound pretty sure uh yerself, kiddo. Last time I checked, I broke yer kitchen knife wit'out lifting a finger."

Ichigo almost rushed at that point, but Matsumoto's timely arrival, coupled with Yumichika's direct resistance, stopped his intended blitz. She was the leader now.

"I'm Rangiku Matsumoto, lieutenant-captain of 10th company." Matsumoto stated grandly, the party-girl image she usually brought to bear completely evaporated in the face of adversity. "As standing in commander, I demand your business."

The giant took out his cigar again, interestingly producing no smoke as he placed it back in his mouth, and held in his guffaw.

"Damn. Takumi tol' me all 'bout ya, but sheesh! What I wouldn't give at have my years back, right now…I kinda miss the Somme, now. Ev'rything was at least in friggin' order, back then."

"I will not ask again." Matsumoto stated with enviable firmness. The jesting nature was long gone, and Ichigo had to admire that switch.

"Heh. Whatever. Seven-on-one, eh? Ya soul reapers sure are road kill at yer opposition." The giant muttered. "I was gonna save some for Sum Mannus, but-"

He never got to finish the sentence. At that time, Uryu, with perhaps an exasperated tripper finger, let loose his arrow, and while it did miss his face, it did get his attention. The cigar he so jovially smoked, suddenly lay sundered at his giant feet, cut clean in half by the arrow.

"……Dat was my cigar." The giant moaned his loss, but he recovered, as he smashed his enormous mitts together.

"Hey! You kiddoes obviously wanna fight? C'ere then! Takumi's got it rigged so no one can see me or ya, and I cun tell ya wanna smack wit' me!"

His body assumed the stance of a ringside pugilist, his massive form lowering a bit to govern his weight. In front of him, the nine collected combatants stood at the ready, wondering partially if this guy realized he was at a serious handicap, and partially wondering why he was going through with this.

Eventually, Ichigo discarded his reason. His blade became his arm, and it shimmered with bloodlust. He made rather obscure connections with this behemoth, as a friend to the Seven-Sealed Devil, and a nemesis to his sister as well. His brother-senses tingled sharply, and he wanted to cut this guy for the past humiliation.

Then…a rather unusual occurrence. Though Matsumoto did not give the order, the three most-melee oriented warriors among them-Ichigo, Chad, and Ikkaku- leapt simultaneously, not aware in the least of the others' planning, and dodged around at three different angles. Ichigo jumped over Matsumoto and Yumichika (the pair trying to work out a less belligerent plan), and bellowed the name of his _zan-pakuto­ _for the attack. To his left, Chad circled around, and intended to pummel the giant's right flank. Likewise, Ikkaku also circled around the bank steps of marble, and raised his _shikai-_ed _zan-pakuto_ to pierce the bulk of the warrior. The giant did not bother to move, at first, as the three came with the element of surprise. Armored fist, cleaver, and spear all touched down in chorus, but there was not the repugnant sound of flesh being torn, nor the quivering shrieks of pain. Not even blood permeated the air, a sign that the attack was a success.

Instead, the giant held arms suddenly, in a defensive position, protecting himself against the psionic weaponry.

"A'ight. Ye three's 'bout t'get pummeled."

The next movement seemed too well practiced for a cumbersome giant, but it happened all the same. A vast mitt grabbed Chad's armored fist, taking advantage of his lack of preparation, and hurled him over the shoulder into Ikkaku. The Mexican youth and the bald Soul Reaper clashed together, and tumbled to Ichigo's right, landing some distance in a cloud of dust and in a department store window. Ichigo barely had time to register this, before the other hand of the giant grabbed his throat, and brought him to the abyss that was still his face.

"Name's Ortiz, kiddo. E'joy t'kicking I be's doing-"

His words were cut off by a Quincy arrow, a sickle-shaped _zan-pakuto_, and Matsumoto's ash-like dagger, all striking in a renewed three-part prong. This time, Ortiz the giant stumbled back, letting go of Ichigo's neck. Again, the blades found no blood, and the arrow interestingly bounced off the giant's bulk. His hat fell askew for but a moment, but realignment followed.

"Dag'nabit." The giant muttered. "I guess I'm wearin' my bug-stomping boots wus uh good thing today."

He did not get much chance to finish, as again the combined might of a furious Ichigo, a confident Yumichika, and a stern Matsumoto, pressed him back, forcing the giant to raise his arms to guard his head.

For some reason or another though, as they continued to fight, Ichigo couldn't help but wonder…as if something was wrong with this whole picture…even among Rukia's encouragement's and Uryu's volleys…something still seemed wrong.

What was it?

Ichigo blacked out his underestimated reasoning skills, as the troll of a man flung a jab out at the orange-haired soul reaper. The boy just missed, and in aftermath was grateful: Ortiz's fists promptly smashed into the brick building behind him all the way up to his elbow.

_Oh…crap. _

The brute in the trench-coat merely jerked his arm back, leaving an arm-sized hole in the masonry, and guffawed at the damage. "Gha ha ha! Ten-hut, soldier-boy! Still haven't figured it out yet? C'mon den! I'll beat ya black-n-blue all day long!"

Ichigo grimaced, though not because of Ortiz's hearty laughs. What bugged him now was that he sensed four other, foreign spiritual pressures coming this way…and he had a feeling that they were not friendly either.

The substitute soul reaper and his fellows barely had time to react, as the mastodon warrior leapt in again, renewing the battle, which no one but they seemed aware of or a part of…

--

_**3:00, A.M…**_

"I _can _walk just fine. My stomach's just out of wack."

"I'm sure you thought that when you tried to stop me from practicing. You almost ended up flat on your face."

"Its not like I haven't taken a fall before, Shiro-Chan! I play soccer, after all!"

"I don't want you getting hurt unnecessarily." Toshiro remarked. As he walked through the eastern part of Mashiba, taking it upon himself to escort her back to home (the nurse inquiring as to why he would in the first place, but deciding it was alright), he realized exactly what he said. A subtle blush formed on his face, and he cut his conversation off to observe his phone.

Karin's condition was expected of mediums, Toshiro long ago had reasoned. She was currently in a developmental stage, when it came to his spiritual awareness. While she could see the dead, and interact with them if she wanted, she was unable to establish an effective guard against them. The hollows' sheer essence seemed to clamor with her own soul, thus producing ill effects in the body…this occurred in many cases with newborn mediums and awakening powers. Until they were exposed to the effect several times, the result would always be the same: visible sickness and steep climbs of fatigue. Karin would indeed be fine, but he felt…compelled…to be with her. Maybe he wanted the company, or maybe he just needed an excuse out of that wearisome classroom. He had been through an academy once, after all. Twice was just torture.

She did seem to be getting better, but he was not taking any chances: For reasons he justified by a bulwark of logic, Toshiro found his hand locked like a magnet to hers. It was not anything involved in it really…just that if she keeled over, he'd catch her…

_Just keep telling yourself that,_ A voice lacking the long-missed Hyourinmaru's nobility piped in.

Toshiro again returned to his phone. He was not too far from where the fighting was, and everything seemed to be unfolding with surgical accuracy. The deluge of hollows he felt earlier…they were one moment there, and the next moment they all vanished, leaving on his screen seven recognizable spiritual pressures (those of Ichigo, Madarame, Kuchiki, Yasutora, Inoue, Yamada, & Ishida) and four spiritual pressures that he did not recognize. The formation itself seemed odd, to boot. His friends were in some sort of wedge formation, but the point (Ichigo) was not facing any of the other four spiritual pressures. According to the phone's screen, two were on the left of the formation, one was behind, and one was a good way into the front, but far enough that, with topography taken into scale, was not the object of the charge. Thus, what exactly were they arming themselves against?

Suddenly, unfolding on the screen, Matsumoto and Ayasegawa jumped in front of Ichigo. After several moments there, the dots representing Ichigo, Madarame, and Yasutora leapt forward, attacking…what appeared to be empty space. Nothing of great or even mediocre spiritual pressure remained in that area, and so…what exactly did that mean?

_I should be over there with them…Not on the sidelines…_

Toshiro wanted badly to take matters into his own hands, but still his _zan-pakuto_ was recovering. Whether or not he should trust the giant's words was a thing onto itself, but still, Toshiro remained focused on the matter at hand. Karin looked somewhat pitiful, but like the tough girl she tried to be, she was it sticking out.

"Don't you have faith in them?" Toshiro heard Karin ask, as they walked on. The parts of Mashiba they traversed was more suburban, akin to the layout of the Kurosaki neighborhood. Dainty, hygienic houses dotted either side of them, marked in milestones with stolid telephone poles and electric wires above. Cars did pass them by, as could be expected for the near-end of school, but Toshiro paid them no heed. His attention, away from the shimmering summer heat, the bleated trees, and the humid winds, focused on the dark-haired girl with the baseball cap, who now captivated his notice with her anonymous frown, and to whom he was currently, physically linked to.

"Well? Shiro-chan? Don't you have any faith in them?"

"Them? You mean Matsumoto?" Toshiro asked.

Karin nodded her consent.

"Yes, I do. If I didn't, I wouldn't have sent them on this."

"Then why are you eyeballing that cell phone?"

"…I'm just concerned."

The answer seemed satisfactory to Karin, who dropped her inquisition at point. Occasionally, she would look around her, as if aware of something, but didn't say anything.

Their walk continued on in regular silence, quaint and humble in light of the havoc that was happening some blocks away. Toshiro resisted the temptation to join the battle, for his responsibility now was medic as much as captain. Still, he pushed on, admiring the foliage, the kind of which one could not experience in the marble mausoleum that was the Seireitei, and could not compare to the antediluvian squalor than was the Rukongai. There were trees in the latter, yes, but these were brown from lack of maintenance, and the brunt of so many beer-brawls…there was much left to be gained from here-

"Excuse me, _Niños_."

A man wandered past them, almost bumping into Toshiro as he was lost in his admiration of nature of the living world. A man wearing some black outfit, and wearing some hat, or another…it did not matter…

Toshiro however, did notice when Karin took his shoulder, and shook it violently. Pulled forcibly out of his reverie, the youngest captain looked at his companion.

"What is it?"

"There's a _really_ bad man that just passed you by."

Toshiro looked at her face, and noticed how it had paled to greatly contrast the black-locked framing her face. Something had spooked her, and she didn't get spooked easily.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, and immediately wished he hadn't.

The captain of 10th company recognized that man, though how the man failed to recognize him, for the second time, escaped his reason. Who else would have such pasty, albino-like skin? Who else would wear such narcissistic clothing, consisting of a dapper three-piece suit of a glimmering, glossy obsidian, equally black shoes, and sable-cloth gloves? Only one person wore that type of fedora, a copy of which Toshiro still had in his possession, from the man's flight. Only one person walked with such hoity-toity dignity and presumptuous arrogance, that bowed to all forms of eloquence and etiquette. Only one person smiled as that way…and he just luckily brushed passed them, as if common strangers with their own ways to go. Even that mannerism, that all too familiar mannerism, of a hand being perched on his hat, was there…The other hand hung limp like a dead snake, a parcel in cardboard in gloved hand. Toshiro grimaced at the instantaneous recognition of the man, so methodical in each step and so clean in his appearance.

"What do we do?" Karin whispered.

"Move slowly, and avoid attracting attention."

Toshiro and Karin followed that order, trying to act normal and oblivious, but aware of the nemesis just behind them. Toshiro's heart turned to ice as he saw the man stop suddenly, setting down his cardboard parcel to retrieve something from his pocket. It looked like a simple piece of paper, but the man tilted his head over his shoulder ever so slightly, as he looked at the paper scrap in his hand. Gain in distance as they were, Toshiro couldn't quite tell what was on the paper, but…the man did no go any further, instead his head tilted slightly to observe his back.

The snow-haired captain imagined the dandy was smiling. Widely.

Then the man turned on his heel, and followed after them.

"Move quickly," was the hurried order.

"Oh, _nijos pequenos!_ Wait for _un_ _momento_, _por favor._" The man's voice completely lacked emotion, almost like a marionette to the larynx. The façade of being courteous proved a bit disgusting. "_Yo quero hablar de tu!_"

"Toshiro…" Karin stated, the concern now on her face. Toshiro grimaced his distaste as well, as they picked up their speed, cursing their backpacks…and aware of the temporal futility in the act.

"_Yo decido, Niño pequenos…" _The emotionless voice came again, this time louder, as if the distance had been irreparably closed, "I want to talk to you."

It was as if he was right behind them.

As if to clarify it, a pair of hands found perch on their shoulders, both making them jump out of their skins, and stopping their escape. They did not turn around, and each had their own face of anger (for anger was much more preferable to fear), on their faces. They could feel him lower his hat-covered head close to theirs, and whisper in their ears.

"Hansel…Gretel…_El Diablo sellado siete _has you in check. I could kill you now…but that would be ungentlemanly…beneath my ability…and there would be no entertainment for me…so how about…we play a little?"

Toshiro did not say anything. He would give his head to summon Hyourinmaru now and kill this man, but his powers were still useless. The man had a hand on each of their necks, and Toshiro had not forgotten what those pallid palms could produce with but a jerk. He squeezed Karin's hand, trying to send what support he could, trying to keep her calm, and aware again that Ichigo, if he survived his trial, was gonna kill him.

"Follow me, Hansel and Gretel…let me lead you. We need a vacant place to play…and introduce ourselves…better…I want to know a little about the great _capitan decimo_, Toshiro Hitsugaya…as I've never fought a soul reaper before, much less a dainty little captain. _Un dragon Pequeno y su tesoro…_I'm so excited, I can't stand it."

Toshiro said nothing, but kept his face a mask of ice and his hand a chamber locked with Karin's. He had no intention to die, though he realized, as the man lead them forward, pushing them to their positions by the neck, he was in a predicament.

He felt Karin squeeze his hand back.

Indeed, he was in check…but he was not in checkmate. Not yet.

He glanced at the man's face, the closest he had ever been to the dapper cretin. His face was a replica of a plastic surgeon's masterpiece, reflecting pallid, unmarred flesh on the lower half of his face (the upper half covered by his fedora). No bruises or scars were present, as if he had never been harmed at all…but the giant said he had broken something didn't he?

_Not checkmate. Not yet. I will not let us die yet._

The trio, the captor and his captives, walked in further silence…the humid sun and the billowing winds taking no notice of the kidnapping in effect…

Not aware of the natures, secret or obvious, of the three….

--

End Chapter.

-Pardon me for taking so long, but hopefully I set this up right. The next chapter will be chuck full of action, now that the stage is better set. So please bear with me.

-Thank you again.

Translation:

_Un dragon Pequeno y su tesoro-_This means 'a little dragon and his hoard'


	10. Chapter 10: Lion and Unicorn, Part 1

I hope you find this chapter to your liking. Perhaps I screwed up on the payoff, but…be patient. Reviews are as always appreciated.

Disclaimer: BLEACH! Is not of my ownership. Only the members of Canopus and the plot itself. Thank you.

And now, the story continues…

_**Chapter 10: The Lion and The Unicorn, part 1**_

_**--**_

_**August 12**__**th**__**, Mid-Afternoon…**_

__Ichigo Kurosaki forced a yelp out as he jumped out of the way, thanking the blessings of his speed as another oversized fist aimed and missed his head. The evasive measures seemed repetitive, to him. As a school-yard scrapper, fights took a practical and scientific outlook that he was practically unaware of. If a fist came at him, he would dodge and clobber his foe with his own. However, as he swung his _zan-pakuto _at his burly adversary, the blade failed to cut through flesh and bone, so unlike the damage done to hollows in the past. Instead, it bounced and reverberated, despite multiple attempts, as if striking potent armor.

He just managed to duck a sweeping arm, thankful for its painful slowness, while again doggedly thrusting his blade at the giant, known only as Ortiz. Again, Zangetsu met stark resistance, bouncing off and making metallic clamor, while opening him again.

The giant guffawed at his opening, and reared another arm back, but Ichigo was saved by a war cry and a flying body: It was Ikkaku Madarame, who intervened on his behalf, greedily sating his lust for combat with a truly strong, seemingly indestructible adversary.

Ichigo could only huff, and voice his frustrations aloud. "What is this guy?! Made of metal or something?!"

Ichigo found no answer, given either by earthly council, divine messenger, or hellish pierrot. Only a ringing encouragment from his partner Rukia, and the mountain of a man in front of him, pulled him back into the fray, assisting the bald Soul Reaper in spite of his dangerous glare.

About twenty minutes had passed since Ortiz the brute entered the fray, boldly challenging all seven of the gathered combatants before him. While Ichigo was experienced in his fair share of fights, he knew that it was unlikely the galoot in the trench coat could take them all on. Having experience in scraps where he was at a disadvantage, Ichigo had looked at his allies, and felt confident that it would only be ten seconds to end it. After all, these were soul reapers and psychics, each blessed with an above-average capacity of spiritual pressure. Surely, with seven high tides against a single tree, that had _no spiritual pressure to begin with_…Ichigo's self-assurance was understandable.

Then, it came to the point where he defended against the brief attacks of Ishida, Matsumoto, Ayasegawa, and now exclusively Ikkaku, Chad, and himself. Of the three melee specialists, none of them had so much as slowed him down, or even knocked him off his feet. He shrugged off the blows as if the giant was fighting a bitter gale…and he kept coming at them with bone-crushing magnitude.

Ichigo could easily spot the damage done at the ends of those mitten-covered fists. It was fortunate of the three that Ortiz had yet to hit them in a vital area. Each time he missed, pummeling either part of a building or part of the street, he would withdraw his arm, revealing a little crater in either the asphalt or the masonry of where his knuckles had been. The fact the warrior could do this time after time, and not gain any fatigue or pain shocked and reviled the young Soul Reaper. More than once his eyes probed the shrouded abyss that was the monstrous brute's face, and wondered if that slick accent was as real as the craters impromptu made.

Again, he was saved by his greater speed. Though he was not challenged by Ortiz's pummeling fists directly, a projectile in the form of Ikkaku Madarame pitched at him with stark suddenness, forcing the orange-haired soul reaper to eat the asphalt or else eat bald head. The 'bald head' flew over him, bouncing off of a parked car, and amazingly he heard a laugh from the maniacal Soul Reaper. Removed from the fight, Ichigo turned his attention back to the giant, prepared for his slow but destructive onslaught.

"C'mon, kiddo. We're gonna hava kicking like ya neva seen." He beckoned with his damning hand, assuming then a boxer's stance. His demeanor reflected a playful confidence, as if he was less interested in killing him and more interested in this lackadaisical action.

"Why don't you take off your hat, if you're having so much fun?" Ichigo challenged.

"Nah. Might rain. Forecast said sunny, but I doan trust de weatherman, hey?" The brute broke his stance to shrug offhandedly, but adjusted his hat to better suit his pugilist stance.

The next moment, the giant surprisingly ducked and rushed forward, his fists reared back for a combination worthy of the ring. Ichigo yelped in surprise, and jumped high with the aid of _shun-po_, just in time to avoid a three-fist combo that reduced the car behind him to-politely stated-damaged goods in the motor, and greatly told the lie of his close-up game.

Ichigo, now having created some greatly needed distance between him and the giant, looked at shock. It was brief, a factor he could only allow momentarily, less either Rukia field-goal kicked him, or the giant crushed his internal organs much like that car engine. He gained another reprieve, as the hard-bodied Ikkaku jumped from the broken window of said car, landing on the giant and slashing at his front. Amazing, the hat escaped destruction, but the brute backed up, grabbing with those engulfing hands, and hurling the 3rd seat from his body once again.

_"_Kiddo, ya need uh lot more training."

"Ah, shut up!" Ichigo shouted, trying to suppress his own hot-headed revulsion.

"'Uh'gain? Sheesh."

This time, the giant did not try a parry, but merely raised his arms up in a defensive cross, allowing the cleaver-blade to eat into his forearms. Amazingly, not even the fabric on the trench coat was singed by his edge, instead halted by his mighty arms. Ichigo imagined the brute was grinning under his wide-brimmed hat, confidence bordering on arrogance, as he stayed shaking in renewed disbelief. Quickly reminded of his proximity, Ichigo jumped back, attempting to find another kink to exploit.

"Ya know, its only uh matter'a time befor' I get ya. Ya got no stamina, kiddo." Ortiz stated, his fists clenching within their threadbare fabrics, before again assuming his boxing stance.

Ichigo again could feel himself grimace, before gathering energy in his _shikai_-ed blade. It was going to be a troublesome fight, that was obvious. The fact that he was already breathing heavy, and the giant barely seemed to be exerting himself. Enjoying himself seemed to be the best term.

"Huh. Alright." Ichigo said to himself. The battle was becoming an obvious strain, but even with the unsure future, he had his blade.

"'At's right, kiddo. We got all day!"

Ichigo finally had his fill of the brash giant. His cleaver-style _zan-pakuto _heaved over his head, he jumped at the giant with a sudden initiative, intending to catch him flat-footed.

Instead, the giant, not even moving from his space, intercepted the blade with his wrist, grabbed Ichigo's kimono, and promptly ending the counter with a slam to the dismantled car behind him.

"Damn, kiddo. 'At wuz too fast." The giant, not relenting on his grip, hoisted the Kurosaki scion up by the neck, tossing him stumbling to his feet, and leaving him open to another destructive combination. Again, however, Ichigo was saved by his own reflexes, as well as the lackluster speed of Ortiz. A gut punch intending to dismantle his intestines, sailed forward, but in a rather desperate dodge, Ichigo hopped on his oversized arm, and landed a Isshin-practiced dropkick to the giant's head.

The question of his mysterious durability vibrated from his feet to his head with contact. His head felt like it was made of solid steel, and Ichigo could swear he heard a clang as he jumped back. His feet barked as dogs from the pain, but he recovered, again putting a sizable distance between him and the oversized pugilist.

"Darn it, Darn it! What the heck are you made of?!" Ichigo vented his surprised frustration again.

"Hehe…I guess tuffer stuff 'an you, eh?" The giant Ortiz boasted, rotating his arm as he spoke. "C'here. I'll show ya uh thing or two."

"No. It'll be me that teaches you!"

Ichigo found his words a bit stronger than his interior mind. The fatigue evident in his body was not lost in his mind.

Again, they-the Karakura coalition and these unusual invaders from the organization of Canopus-had been fighting for about twenty-five minutes (Ichigo wasn't truly sure: Fighting a guy like Ortiz seemed to prevent one from staring at the clock) and each had broken off to their own skirmishes. Ichigo and Ikkaku, as both melee naturals and battle maniacs, sought to neutralize the fighting power of the powerhouse Ortiz, though whether they were making any progress was like saying that the moon was getting fatter: It was indecipherable to the eye, even when on top of it. However, while Ichigo had originally expected Ortiz to be the _only _threat, as he so gaily boasted, it quickly became clear that the meathead had some military savvy up his engulfing sleeves. No sooner had they all sought to engage him, than did four more spiritual pressures descended into their midst, unfamiliar to them, and obvious allies to the disguised brute. While Ichigo and Ikkaku, and Rukia in their corner for support, tried to push the giant into submission, distancing themselves from the rest, the wielder of Zangetsu caught a glimpse of both the other fighters and his own compatriots engaging with them. One fighter proved not to be a fighter at all, but a non-combatant, sated on his own dignity, with almost girly hot-pink locks, simple clothing, and a conservative movement that Ichigo related to Hanataro Yamada. Rather than pick a fight, this weirdo merely sat next to the embroidered black box, taking a meditative stance, and seemed to chant with his small face. He did not cast an combative nature: In fact, Ichigo could've sworn this guy detested conflict. However, Ichigo never got the chance to ask, due to his own occupation.

Others, that were combatants, caught his attention, each bearing a blade of their choosing to the Karakura coalition's detriment. They carried a youthful disposition matching Ichigo's, varying only by a few years perhaps, but far younger, the smarter-than-average punk suspected, than the indomitable Ortiz. One fought with an indifference that Ichigo could envy and use, if in school, as he stepped in with headphones on his head, blasting rock music so loudly that the group surely could hear the disturbed lyrics filtering out of his headphones. He had a rather outspoken vest, but the rest of him appeared rather dowdy in appearance. What was noticed was the gilded bastard sword gripped between his fingers, which shined a sunny gold as he brought it to bear against his designated opponent. Ichigo couldn't help but smile as the shabby dressed swords-boy (which he vaguely heard as Sum Mannus) engaged with a much more experienced Rangiku Matsumoto, whose fiery-ash Hai-neko countered his bastard sword, and pressed him back.

Another combatant, who appeared certainly not as fit but young as his rugged companions, with a bubbly, rotund size that indicated more eating and less training. The rotund youth rushed at Uryu Ishida, who had to run and dodge from the surprisingly fast, black-skinned sword bearer. Ichigo got a glance at him, and could note of his baldness, his ebony adiposity, his voluminous jacket, opened to reveal his girth and a tattoo of some red star, and his shorts, cut still to reveal large, flabby but powerful legs. He appeared about Uryu's height, interestingly, but bounded at the geeky-looking Quincy with a war club, notched with cracks in the side that matched his own smile. Ichigo recalled that this man was known as Garm, though 'fatty' perhaps was a more appropriate.

The fourth and final participant undoubtedly on the side of Canopus was a woman, very much a match for voluptuous beauty as Matsumoto is (Ichigo could feel his nose stifle blood as he chanced a glance). Unlike Matsumoto, who flaunted her assets (a factor which again stroke nerves into the substitute Soul Reaper), this woman covered herself in a demure dress of purple, embroidered in a way that would not advise combat, but cultivated carousing. Hair of a simple brown, a waspish, shy figure, and an epee in hand, this woman (whose name Ichigo believed to be Oracion) did not look to hold a combative nature, even with the intervening blade in lithe hand. She curled a smile into confidence, and chased after Yumichika, who Ichigo was sure, was trading salon info along with parried thrusts.

Chad, unfortunately had been removed from combat, forcing Orihime to action rather than support. Again, Ichigo saw first hand the furious power in cased in Ortiz's punches. Chad, enjoying a stand-up game as much as the giant, tried to engage his own large fists with the giant, successfully beaming the trench coat-wearing brute multiple times in the gut. However, even with each clashing punch, the giant reeled, but he did not stagger from his standing position. Dwarfing Chad in his stature, the giant weathered the oversized student's onslaught of fists, shrugging them off momentarily, and then happily returning the favor with a combination of four punches, striking in the temple, chin, abdomen, and nose in succession. Chad, though an durable lad for his age, could not withstand a pair of fists that would later turn a car engine to mulch, and he promptly collapsed, forgotten by Ortiz the moment he crumbled to the ground.

That started Ichigo's futile but furious attack, supplemented by Ikkaku and his Hozukimaru.

Due to Chad's injury (Ichigo did not know the limits of his damage, but the fact he did not move after getting struck the fourth time told bad news for the Mexican-descendant), Orihime took it into account like a nurse maid. Calling upon her own abilities, her fairy-like spirits tended to their healing abilities. Fortunately, they were ignored, for Orihime, while capable of battle, was still vulnerable to attack when dealing with her healing skills. Hanataro, though also a medic, did not tend to helping Chad, though this was not of callousness. Rather, it was due to his own occupation with the pink-haired non-combatant. He did not engage the pink-haired stranger, as Hanataro was no combatant himself, but merely stood in his way, preparing to counter him as best he could, should the situation present itself.

As such, they all ventured away from the front of the bank, each embroiled in their own conflict of life and death. How the others were doing, Ichigo couldn't hazard a guess. Not that he could not take a peek around him, to observe his friends and his comrades, but rather that doing such an act would only invite an attack of opportunity to the lumbering lummox. Ortiz may have been limited by his speed, but when he got a hit in, every blow counted. Chad's prone form was proof of that.

He turned his attention back to the burly beast in front of him, who seemed to adopt a more favorable strategy. Rather than come to him, Ichigo noticed that Ortiz simply edged closer, more or less awaiting the orange-haired soul reaper to close the distance, attack, and perhaps contact with evilly-effective counter jabs that would doom his jaw. Aware of this plan, Ichigo inched back, his sword up for protection, but not taking any measures to close the distance.

"Ichigo! What are you doing?" Rukia, a good distance away from the melee, called out at his self-assured repulsion.

"Trying not to get killed!"

"And how are you going to fight that way? Are you a coward?"

"……" Ichigo did not like taking blows to his pride, and Rukia's cutting words did just that. However, he could not see a way to counter his adversary, and was saved from immediate engagement by a recovered Ikkaku, who seemed to enjoy his pain as much as the fight itself. Wordlessly, and lacking a face to go on, the giant stepped back suddenly, not evading the slashes of Hozukimaru, but apparently uninjured. The blade cut into the belt conspicuously holding the trench-coat shut, sending it flapping open in the summer heat. For the briefest of moments, Ichigo believed he spotted some armor on his legs, as the ends of the trench coat flapped out. However, the substitute did not get much of a chase to see, as Ortiz proved his inexhaustible strength by hoisting Ikkaku again off his feet, and now leveling a number of controlled punches at his side.

"Darn it Ichigo! Get in there!" Rukia shouted, not supplying a means to resolving the fact that this guy still wasn't taking damage, as so much as threatening him with an itchy-foot trigger. Ever the slave to the whims of his partner, Ichigo only cursed under his breath, and rushed again.

His charge was halted promptly when the giant hurled Ikkaku from his hold, forcing a collision between the two soul reapers. Both saw stars. Both muttered swearwords under their breath. Both struggled to their feet, their _zan-pakutos _at the bat, and leered at the giant, whose back was turned to them still, an enormous mitt clasping his cut trench coat belt.

"Heh. Damn it. 'is screws me up pretty clean." He tossed his wasted belt to the side, and removed a cigar from his cavernous pockets, not taking the time to light it, but stuffing it into his mouth apparently. "I'm not presentable wit'out 'is coat, kiddos."

"Hey. Thank your luck I didn't slice your face off." Ikkaku warned.

"Ga ha ha…Ya cain't, kiddo. My body's madda tuffer stuff, afta all. But I cun still fight wit' 'is on. Question. Ya played baseball?"

"…hey. What's baseball?" Ikkaku asked.

Ichigo gestured to drop the question, unsure exactly what that question would be posed in the first place.

"Nah? Ya haven't?" Ortiz drawled, the metallic echo again stingily apparent in his bass. "Well…ready or not, its batta up time!"

The two Soul Reapers failed to take into account the environment, and the real reason the brute in the wide-brimmed had his back to his adversaries. Another car, unmarred like the other, remained in park behind Ortiz, and with a startling suddenness, the giant hoisted the entire car over his head, barely voicing more than a grunt.

"He're's 'e pitch, kiddos!"

With continued shocking strength, the disguised giant heaved back and tossed the car (which was a _Tiburon_) at the soul reaper pair, intending to crush them wholly. Both bald and orange-haired reaper felt their eyes widen, as the car came at them with lethal force lacking of a machine, but this moment of surprise was short-lived. Quickly in passing, Ikkaku and Ichigo rolled to the side, narrowly evading being crushed by a speeding car. The car smashed to pieces, and yet only the eyes of three, and not the oblivious pedestrians, heard or even reacted to the impact. For the projectile itself, another engine was smashed by the unforgiving asphalt. Ichigo was just grateful to escape without broken bones.

"Damn! What the heck are you?!" Ichigo found his voice.

"Ichigo! If you want to find out so badly, cut his coat to pieces, then!" Rukia muttered, trying to fit her role as second.

"I wouldn't rec-co-mend that, missy. Ya doan wanna see what I look like under 'is coat. Ya ever heard of da Somme? Well, look no further for 'e horrors. Now, Lets go!"

Ichigo puffed himself up, trying to gather his temerity for this fight, while at the same time aware that he needed some tactical advantage over this guy. His blade was not harming the giant, that much was certain. Resuming his lackadaisical boxing stance, the giant stomped forward, brimming confidence evident in each concrete-shattering step. Ichigo raised his blade again, hoping the metal of his Zangetsu could provide a barrier against his destroying fists.

"I'll pay you back for hurting Chad."

"Lets see ya try, kiddo. I woan even havta, meself."

The giant for once took the initiative, hurling a vicious straight at Ichigo's heart. Again credited with his painful slowness, Ichigo raised up his cleaver to guard his important organ, blocking effectively but shaking him to his soles. Ichigo reared back from a second punch from the other hand, allowing Ortiz to make his mistake. His weight had long been accounted for, and as he leaned in on his punch, the lumbering lummox leaned a bit too far, losing his balance. Finally, Ichigo found his advantage, and brought the sword on his head perfectly.

A long clang, the type of noise one hears when metal cracks on metal, erupted through the air, so loud that even the ignorant civilians flinched to. The blade did eat something, but Ichigo couldn't help but wonder exactly what it was that Zangetsu bit into. As a part-time assistant to a medical institution, Ichigo knew the sound of knifes penetrating into skin, bone, and other tissues. He knew how head wounds would bleed profusely, even if minimal in fatalistic probability. He also knew that a knife would always cut into flesh and bone, and that only a metal of equal or greater durability could halt its probing advance. The strike bisected his wide-brimmed hat perfectly, and the giant was shaken by the suddenness and potency of the blow, heightened further by his off-kilter stance.

But he did not collapse in the structure of death. If anything, Ichigo's furious blow only dropped him to a knee, his blade acting more as a bludgeon than a splitting edge.

However, Ichigo made a rookie error, and exposed himself. Treating him as a snake with its head cut off, Ichigo did not brace himself for Ortiz's swatting arm. The massive arm forced the orange-haired adolescent back, his impromptu flight halted by a newspaper dispenser, which he bowled over from sheer force.

Yet his removal did not go unavenged, though not by the wiles and persistence of Ikkaku Madarame. Instead, Rukia herself stepped into the fight, placing her petite frame between Ichigo and the monstrous giant, and chanted her own incantation. With quick words, a black of _kido _enveloped the still-downed the giant, forcing him back from the magic force, and ensnaring his clothing, his trench coat and mittens, in a venomous black fire.

"Ichigo! Get your butt up here! I can't hold him off for long without my Soul Reaper powers!" Rukia called out to her fallen partner. Rocked as he was, despite his durability, the single swat from the brute did more damage than the collision into the newspaper dispenser. He found it a chore to breathe for a moment, each breath painfully crawling into his body.

If he had been quicker, perhaps he could've halted the next action.

A combination of anticipated lethargy and Rukia's attention on Ichigo prompted them both being caught flat-footed, unaware in the least of the bull rushing them, his clothes still on fire from the _Hado _blast. Rukia turned just in time to feel a cold, bony hand wrap around her throat, immediately choking the respiratory capabilities of her gigai, and effortlessly hoisting her in the air, to the arm's full reach. With ease she was elevated, her pelvis now parallel to the giant's head, and she struggled with her disciplinary feet, kicking with all the force she could muster. Against a normal foe, such powerful kicks would humble even the stoutest man, leveled at his cranium as they were. But this brute was not normal. She kicked four times, motivated by panic and fueled by adrenaline, and it was not until the fourth kick that Rukia Kuchiki felt her foot contort in jarring pains. Each kick made a sound comparable to when a youth kicks a trashcan or a car door. The clangor of metal was again ever present, and Rukia felt her hands groping at the small, bony finger that held her throat.

They were not flesh and bone. No, no…these surprisingly gaunt fingers, hidden exclusively by the enveloping mitten that was now burned to ashes, were cold, lacking the human warmth or even the glabrous skin tissue of a normal hand. Instead, as Rukia cast her eyes down, before they rolled into the back of her head from lack of breath, she saw that they were more rounded, but skeletal-like as well, lacking the bulk of meat and blood and skin, and instead replaced not with dry bone…but cold, blackish-blue metal. A skeletal hand of metal, with an almost hydraulic grip, fastened to her petite windpipe, and it slowly, mechanically, tightened around her throat.

"Aw dang it. Now ya gon'n pissed me off. Whatever. It wuz bound t'happen." Again came that carefree accent, and that was the second to last thing Rukia knew for the day.

The last thing she knew was the grip tightening further, and she losing consciousness because of lack of air.

Ichigo found his legs then, and jumped up, running to Rukia's inert form as the giant, now lacking his protective clothing, released her. Motioning to Orihime, Ichigo grabbed his partner and fled for the time, his creed of protection more important than a skirmish. But he did get a glance at the giant, as he looked down on him, his face now more obvious and all the more hideous for it.

Ichigo now understood why his Zangetsu could not penetrate the giant's body, as if he was wearing some sort of armor. It wasn't that simple, but rather academic. The giant's body _was _the armor. The giant's girth was a carapace of blackish-blue metal, shimmering in the lazy afternoon sun, now broached on the horizon. Holding only a bipedal stance and a humanoid structure to label himself as sapien-like, without the hat, the trench coat, and the mittens to hide his repugnant form, the monstrous appearance was all the more enhanced and emblazoned for show and tell. His head was mostly encased in a jagged, junky metal collection, bisected down the middle, which the left had a softer, gentler, smoother appearance, almost framing a head, while the other side had a more polygon-like outlook, as if messily collected together in a mortar of glue and fire. His body, hulking in ridiculously humongous proportions, expanded out to be at least two men wide, from shoulder to shoulder, with an apparent armament perched on his back: On his right shoulder there was a rectangular like prism, with a series of openings at the front, while the other side had a more triangulated opening on the metal box, akin to jaws, that pointed upward. The galoot's body continued its shimmering armor all the way to his rather blocky legs, which seemed more a collection of scrap parts. The knees looked as diamond-shaped athletic pads, bisecting the upper and lower legs as rectangular prisms vaguely resembling thighs and calves, each adorned with yellow lights. The feet, that bore his weight and broke the earth, were of a diamond pattern as well, colored grey and mingled with almost turtloid shellings. Lastly, however, were his arms: Asymmetrical in design, and singularly dangerous. The left, the one which he choked Rukia to unconsciousness, was ectomorphic in size all the way to the elbow, which gained more mass and a curious four-blades at where the bicep would be. The other, however, was much larger, though still holding a skeletal thinness at the hand. Beyond the wrist, a metallic covering encased the arm, stopping at the right bicep, which revealed a curious cylinder a fifth of the way inserted into this casing.

From the neck down the man looked more like a machine. And thus Ichigo, a Soul Reaper, had to wonder…how does a machine even interact with a Soul Reaper?!

As Ichigo set down Rukia, shooting Orihime a pleading glance, The mechanical muscle named Ortiz turned his full attention to the substitute Soul Reaper, his invulnerability now fully explained. Ichigo saw Chad, now recovered, propping himself up to assist. Ikkaku, having been in the wings earlier, only positioned himself on the other side of the giant, his spear _zan-pakuto _armed and his smile all the more and indicator to spill shrapnel.

With the three-on-one scenario apparent, if Ortiz was bothered he didn't show it. He turned his face partially to meet Ichigo, to see him out of the right side of his face, and Ichigo reeled at what he saw. He had expected to see a light, indicating further the descent into robotics. Instead, it was a normal, _human_ eye, just like his own, colored a pale sky blue.

He also got a good look at his face, and saw even that was not human. Instead, it was more resembling of a big cat, like a lion or something…just without the mane.

"Dag'nabit." The machine-monster muttered, distaste obvious in words as he moved a mechanical mandible to speak. "I doan like prancing' in 'e nude! But I guess I doan need clothes anymore…hehe…"

The giant lacked the alien comparison that befitted his metallic appearance. He fished for a cigar out of his burning trench coat, and lit it from the flames, before placing it in his feline mouth.

"Get outta my way, kiddo. I'm gonna crush 'at girl's head t'bits for 'is."

"Over my dead body, freak."

"Freak? Did ya call me _freak!? Did ya call me FREAK?!"_ The metallic echo rose to equivocate the giant's anger, and his burly right arm raised itself in challenge. "'at's it. Ferget wha' Kokoro said. Who cares if ya jus' keelled Oracion!? I'm keeling every friggin' onaya. I'll friggin' show ya 'e terror of 'e SOMME!!"

Aware of the difficulty of this upcoming fight, Ichigo and Chad could only brace themselves. The giant, picking up speed for the first time, and abandoning his lazy apathy for intolerant rage, rushed with earthquake causing footsteps at Ichigo, his arms raised up to enshroud them.

Ichigo grimaced. It was time for round two.

--

_**August 12**__**th**__**, mid-afternoon…**_

For the umpteenth time Karin Kurosaki found herself glancing over at her friend Toshiro Hitsugaya, as if expectant of some crafty plan to help them out of the mess they were in. As a reputed captain of the Gotei 13, she surely expected one as experienced as him to have some plan, some trick, to get them out of there. To say they were in paradise, accentuated further by the iron-maiden lock of their hands together, would be a bald-face lie.

When you have a gentleman psychopath guiding you around by the neck, with a switchblade complex all the more, you tend not to label it as paradise.

She did not know how he found them: The Seven-Sealed Devil seemed to pop out of nowhere, or some place more sinister, with each passing. Interestingly, they almost lost him, as he noticed them only by bumping into them first, and then realizing who it was he bumped into. Toshiro, having fought and nearly gotten killed twice, instantly knew who it was on a second glance, and had made to run away as quietly as one might. However, so too did the Devil, and he easily caught up to them. Karin couldn't tell whose frustration was greater, hers or Toshiro's.

Alas, she could not allow herself to dig her own defeat. She wasn't going to walk into the jaws of death. By no means would she. But she found the dude's smile…creepy.

They had been walking for several minutes, maybe five or six, traversing various neighborhoods and quaint houses, before the pallid man stopped them, and raised himself to his full height. Karin was able to get another look at him, and he wanted to blanch at his attire. After all, what sort of dude did you have to be to wear that kind of get-up? A suit and tie of darkest color in _this _weather? She took note of his attention to apparel: His hat dipped again low, to hide the upper portion of his face, while exposing the lower part of his face with a pallid, small smile. Small hints of ebony black hair propped out from the rear of his hat, and Karin noticed again how the majority of his skin was hidden, as if exposing to the sun would blemish him. However, his step, even with his hands restrained, remained pompous to a degree. It annoyed her intimately, to be held as such by a mockery of a man, but she dared not to move…not yet. She did not forget the surprise in his hands, and Toshiro had not made a move either. Perhaps he had a plan.

Perhaps not.

She could not help but find it odd, surreally odd, how the man had no scar tissue on his face…Had not his face been smashed by Toshiro? And what about that parcel, tucked under his arm?

Answers would be forthcoming.

The trio-the dandy and his captives, found a destination, though whether this was intended or not was still up for grabs. The dandy directed the pair of preteens, towards a decrepit fence, withered by time and lack of maintenance, behind of which lied a simple lot. It was vacant of anything save the gazing grass, enclosed within a pair of silent, observant buildings. Whether they had anything inside of them is unknown, but the innocence and the complete absence of innocence simultaneously was there, unruffled by the disquiet in the lot.

"Enter, would you kindly?"

The dandy was as pompous as before in his emotionless words. Karin still found his mannerisms disturbing, how one could put on such a show of gentility and yet have absolute indifference with the timbre of his terminology. He finally released his hold on their necks, and motioned through the decayed gate. Toshiro did not let go of her hand as he took lead, aware perhaps of how pointless it would be to run, with The Seven-Sealed Devil's unnatural speed freshly remembered in their minds. Karin wondered why no one was moving to stop them, but then again, would a cop be able to? Briefly, she realized that there was a candy store on the other side of the street, though she was unable to see anyone inside.

The lot appeared as dissolute and in desperate need of repair as any lot left to the raking winds of nature. It was unlike the lot Karin visited so often, positioned with its soccer goals and kept clean, if not by her and her friends, then by the city itself. This one, lack of trash notwithstanding, had clearly been ignored by passersby, and left to rot at its own leisure. Though the grass was still green for the most part, places still beheld patches of surly brown, a sign of potency of the withering sun. Karin again looked at the two anxious buildings beside them, melded with brick mostly, and wondered if anyone was looking down, observing them as the trio walked to the center of the lot.

"Ha. Ha. Like _ratas _in a maze, _tu _look for an exit vainly. Ha. Ha. Amusing." The detached tenor of the Seven-Sealed Devil crept into their ears, as he stood, one arm inert at his side, clutching his cardboard package, while the other found itself on its gloved perch, resting comfortably on his sable fedora.

"I really getting tired of you, Bloodswerth." Toshiro growled, frustration infinite and anger ready to boil. He lacked a weapon, as per before, and Karin started looking around the lot for some sort of item they could use to defend themselves. Toshiro didn't have his Hyourinmaru, but he did have skills.

"Interesting. You know my name?" The surprise was suppressed due in part to the complete apathy in his voice, but his smile dropped slightly.

"How could I not? Janus Bloodswerth, the Seven-Sealed Devil: Robber of my powers! I've met you twice before! Once I killed you. The second time I maimed you. Did I hit you so hard that you lost your memory?" Toshiro all but shouted. His face was losing its gentle gleam, contorting into a gargoyle from uncharacteristic anger. Karin noticed briefly, as she listened in, that the 10th company captain actually stepped in front of her, as if shielding her from something subconsciously.

"I beg your pardon. I only arrived in Japan two days ago, _dragon pequeno_. You, according to my employer, have been here since…July 30th, if not longer. I could not have dueled you, or any soul reaper before. You are supposedly the first soul reaper that I'll get the privilege of dueling."

Toshiro's voice gained more of a glacial edge as he heard this lie. "You-! What do you take me for?! Just because I look like a child doesn't mean I _am to be treated as one! _I have fought you before!"

"Are you a telepath?"

"No!"

The dandy's mouth curled in confusion, as if he himself could not find an adequate answer. "How strange. I have been in my home of Spain up until two days ago. There is no way you and I could have met, and yet so strongly you vouch that we have…even to the point that you know my name, and you claim I robbed your powers. How _desconocido_. But amusing."

Karin could obviously see how this was affecting him: Anger was shaking his legs to a vindictive beat. However, she still needed his rationale, and so she placed a calming hand on his shoulder. His head turned sharply, and then upon realizing who it was, his teal eyes softened, and he calmed down, effectively.

"Oh well. I do not care how you know me. If anything, this will make it more entertaining. Its been a long time since I fought an opponent that could read my mind, and so needed _castigo _for his lies." He reached into his pockets, and produced a small phone-shaped device, pressing buttons in a languid monotony.

Finally, Karin spoke for herself, remembering something from their last confrontation.

"Uh, hey, Bloodbat or something."

The pallid man looked up, the lower part of his pale complexion indicating attention.

"I gotta question for you." Karin stated. She remembered how, due perhaps to his gentlemanly adherence, the man agreed to answer three questions before the fight. Maybe, as she readjusted her baseball cap to seem confident, she could get some more information.

"……Why waste my breathe on peasants? Why waste my breathe on the arm candy of _un capitan_? You are going to die with your captain anyway, as soon as I…_Ah. _What do you know. Maybe it is worth speaking to you, little girl."

Karin's eyebrows furrowed, as if failing to understand what he was getting at. Toshiro also noticed this, his own face melding from a state of quiet rage to blowing bemusement.

"This is amusing. _El capitan _is you, Toshiro Hitsugaya, but the one with the higher spiritual pressure is _tu_, _Niña pequena_. Ha. Ha. Amusing. What a boon presented to me."

Toshiro looked back at her, a grimace concealing his own fear at his baseball capped friend. Clearly, he knew what was coming, and Karin's thoughts reflected that.

_Ah, don't tell me…_

"My employer told me _el dragon pequeno _is very…_arrogante_. He would refuse to summon his _espada _due to his burdensome _arrogancia_, and therefore will not provide me with sport. At least yet, according to the good doctor. But I see a possible…bargain in the works. I am called _El Diablo sellado siete _for a reason, and perhaps this once, I can be like _El Diablo._ You, Hansel and Gretel, want information. I want entertainment. Supply me with the entertainment that defines _mi existencia, _and I will happily sell out my comrades."

"You mean Canopus?" Toshiro barked. His hold on Karin's hand was becoming more like a python's with each passing moment, and Karin could feel the circulation draining out of her hand.

Again there was that look of genuine puzzlement. "Canopus? What is that? A star? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with an organization. I only have had contact with my employer, who said to remove you, _dragon pequeno_."

_My Gawd! _Karin felt herself shout internally_, what the heck is going on?_

"Can you at least tell us who your employer is?" Toshiro asked again.

"I suppose I could. His name is Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori. Now, are we done talking? _Yo Quero luchar_."

As if to emphasize that desire, the pallid stranger cast aside his black cloth gloves, revealing hands that were at best, vitamin-D deficient. The almost ghostly white texture of his lithe hands bugged Karin, for it added to the strangeness of the man named Bloodswerth. His hands reached again into his pocket, and this time produced a tape recorder, very much like the one they acquired when the man was accosted the second time.

"Entertain me, _Niños_. Entertain me. Thrill me. Chill me. Delight me. Excite me. And from my freezing corpse…you can claim this, your _premio_. This is all you need to know, about Dr. Kiiromori, and _El Voz detras el puerta rojo._ A fair trade, don't you agree? All the information, and all you have to do is kindly kill me. But killing me, is easier _hablado _than _hacedo_. Wouldn't you agree?"

Toshiro stepped forward at this, for this was obviously the challenge, the throwing of the gauntlet. As a Soul Reaper, Karin suspected, the snow-haired captain couldn't avoid a confrontation, even with his lack of power, even with his supposed '_arrogancia_', though, Karin supposed, he could be a little uptight at times. Even so, he had been brave to stand against the Seven-Sealed Devil before, without his powers and all. But in this environment, he could not send her to safety, as he did before. The lot was compact, and lacked any sort of suitable barricades for an eleven-year old girl. If the narcissus went all out, as he so wanted his adversaries to do, then she would likely be caught in the crossfire.

She noticed the dandy's pasty hands rise, and his mouth mutter an incantation:

_"Combinan, Sellos Segundo y Quinto: Electric Sky Fence."_

Almost as if by magic, a series of five bars manifested in front of Toshiro, no sooner than his fifth step was taken. The bars were of pure energy, radiating almost electrical properties, and hovering over her Soul Reaper friend. Grimacing at the uninvited intrusion, he made to move around it, but found that the 'fence' moved with him, halting his progress like a linebacker.

"I do want to fight you, _dragon pequeno_, but I have been informed of your arrogance. You refuse to fight at you best, simply because all others beneath do not deserve to see your power. How such an arrogant, reptilian reaper as yourself landed himself in the Gotei 13, an honorable company, is beyond me. Kiiromori told me how you act around you fights, how you refuse to besmirch your dainty honor with your _espada_. So I will make you _want _to draw out the dragon. I will make you lust for it."

Toshiro paid no heed to the monologue of the Seven-Sealed Devil, again caught in another surprise from the fedora-wearing dandy. He reached a hand to shove the 'fence' back, but recoiled in pain quickly. A burn mark adorned the finger that grazed the energy fence.

"Ha. Ha. How hideous is your _arrogancia. _The _Electric Sky Fence_ connects to nerves. Any place on your body that touches it will activate your pain receptors. What point is conditioning when you get shocked so effortlessly?"

"So then, Bloodswerth…if you intend to keep me caged, where's your entertainment? I'm your enemy! Fight me!"

"No, no, no…" The Seven-Sealed Devil responded, his smile expanding with each negative. "I want you at your best. Your _arrogancia _prevents that, no matter how much you _say _you want to fight me. _Arrogancia es un pecado_, just as my hedonism. I will exorcise it. They say a dragon loves nothing more than its _tesoro_, after all…"

At this, one of his hands jerked, and again the blood-curdling scream of his flesh preluded them. From his left hand came a tizona, this time coming graciously swifter, still caked in his own gore, but otherwise a strong metal blade. His healing palm grasped the saber, and with its full length he pointed it…_at Karin's nose._

"_Yo estoy Janus Bloodswerth. _I challenge you, companion and _esclava_ of the dragon."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"You have to the count of three, or else I will cut you to ribbons." There was no flaw, no fluctuation, and no dissonance in his tone. He very well could have talked about the weather with the same detached voice he used now, so soberly threatening her death. "You are a peasant girl, and so your name is _irrelevante_. Hurry. You have some power in you. Summon it, as I do."

At this, being put on the spot, Karin realized fully how serious Bloodswerth truly was. Lacking emotion in his voice as he was, Karin could see, with the saber's tip inches from her nose, and the phantom smile curling on his face. He looked poised to gallop and strike, but courteously waiting for her to ready herself.

"Uh…but I don't have a blade."

"Nonsense. Must you, the _esclava_, bear the emulated ego of your master? No matter. I will not let you escape. Here. This should suit your tastes."

Distaste all the more apparent on his lips, The Seven-Sealed Devil produced his cardboard package, cut it open with a slice of his tizona, and hurled its contents at Karin's feet. At this, Karin eyed a small sword, which ominously struck face-down at her feet.

"Pick it up."

"No!"

The response turned into a slap of his saber, as the tuxedoed dandy slashed at her with the dull end of his sword.

"Pick it up."

"No!"

This time his bare hand slapped her, but she tried to strike back, her foot lunging for his body. Effortlessly he moved back, and reached his hand out to slap her again. She flinched again, and she felt the tingling on her skin from the contact.

"Pick it up."

Karin looked stubbornly at the man, whose pallid face twisted more and more into a warped smile, accursed all the more due to his obvious irritation. He pointed his sword at her, and her response again was non-verbal, yet all the more vocal: With all her strength, she kicked the tip of the tizona up and back into his face, forcing him back from them.

"I said no! I'm not playing your stupid game! You wanna play with swords, go join a kendo clud or something! Or better yet, go to the psycho-ward!"

"Oh dear. It looks like I must open my _Sello Septimo_. How demeaning it is…to lower myself to touching a peasant…"

Karin ignored his words, but his next action could not be ignored. Indeed, how can one ignore when a hand reaches out, and clasps itself on one's forehead? Karin's hands reached out briefly, attempting to pry off his fingers, while simultaneously trying to kick at his shins.

"If you won't show me your power…then I will _force it _out of you. There in lies a fragmented power: Even one without a sixth sense as myself can sense it. I hunger for it, so produce your _espada._" His tone became more edged, and a divergence from his normal coldness-perhaps anger- could be detected in his timbre. "Kiiromori told me you had a monster inside of you, _esclava_. I will force it out."

Toshiro rushed at the fence holding him back, and with his powerful Hyourinmaru, the _Electric Sky Fence _would have been obliterated before its icy brilliance. But denuded from his full potential, and armed only with borrowed flesh, the 10th company captain recoiled again, his body unable to plow through a conjured fence of high voltage. Karin, meanwhile, felt her brain go on high. She related the feeling not to pain, but to the adrenaline-pumped aftershock of a long soccer game. She felt exhilarated, and energized with each second, the tingling jittering throughout her nervous system. She felt a weight in her hand, a weight that simply just appeared out of mid-air, and Karin felt more emboldened, confident…powerful.

"Karin!" Toshiro called out. "That hand cost me my powers! Don't let him hold you for too long!"

"Ignore him. Indulge yourself, _esclava,_ as you would in that _dragon's _embrace. You have untapped potential for a peasant. Let it be unplumbed. Ah…you have already drawn a weapon…though it is not yours…"

Karin looked down, and her eyes raised themselves in a euphoric amusement. A large sword, shaped like a katana, now rested in her hand, colored a dull grey to emphasize its hardness, one may guess. This was a _zan-pakuto_, but Karin noticed immediately how unbalanced it felt in her hand. Another thing she noticed about the blade, was that it was dripping grey droplets at the very edge. Its pommel also felt too big, as if meant for larger hands.

"Ah…ha. Ha. Ha. Kiiromori was right. You have acquired one of those needles…ha. Ha. Ha. To think, I get to confront a _zan-pakuto_ in the hands of the living. Ha."

Karin felt him remove his hand gently, mimicking the grace of a blessing pope. Then the attitude changed, with the deranged nutcase swinging his thin tizona at the raven-haired football fanatic's head. Hearing Toshiro's call of warning, Karin just raised her blade in time, halting the severing blade from reaching her face.

"Ah. See. You can _luchar. Fantastico. _Be careful now, little girl. For I will kill you, if you offer me the chance. But I will kill you anyway. You haven't the heart to kill me, nor the discipline." Bloodswerth stated firmly. A sign of his lack of seriousness in this fight was evident, as he still only had one sword out.

"I don't need to do that! All I need to do is kick your butt!" Karin announced.

"Oh? With a sword that belongs to another soul reaper? With a spirit that does not recognize you as its master? Ha. Ha. A peasant to the dragon, and a peasant to the _zan-pakuto _Yousenkawa. You cannot hear it, and it will not speak to you. You have no skill, power, or conviction. You are just a means to an end."

Karin was going to boast, but the man rushed her unexpectedly, catching her rear. She rolled out of the way, as he slashed his sword, trying to strike but only half-heartedly.

"Repeat: Surge, Yousenkawa."

The dandy pushed off with a kick, trying to damage her face, but missing slightly. Karin slid under her opponent's feet, using her soccer skills to good use. Toshiro, still barred behind the electric fence, paced like a lion, unable to do anything, again.

"I said, repeat: Surge, Yousenkawa."

This time the dandy came at a more elaborate combination, twirling his blade with parries and thrusts, forcing her heavy katana back with each strike. Her focus on defense, admirable as it was, did not hinder his efforts, as he pushed her _zan-pakuto _aside, and pointed the tip of his sword at her neck.

"You're beginning to bore me. Repeat: Surge, Yousenkawa."

Karin raised her katana up, but her lack of training resulted in some rather awkward movements. She tried to emulate some of Toshiro's movements, but the Seven-Sealed Devil simply moved out of the way, sidestepping each telegraphed step.

"You can never beat me with defense alone. For God's sake, attack me. Say it: Surge, Yousenkawa."

It was Toshiro's heroic voice that pulled her out. "Darnit Karin! Say it or throw the damn thing to me!"

"Shiro-Chan! Shut up!"

The frustration of both was palpable, but as Karin peered at the smiling narcissus, she only could shrug. What else did she have to lose?

"_Surge, Yousenkawa!!" _She shouted, her voice empowered as if by a trumpet. A flash if light overtook the area, and Karin felt the weight lift itself somewhat, as she stood now, her new, _shikai-_ed blade in hand…

His tizona clashed onto her blade…and the smell of melting steel pilfered both their nostrils on contact.

"What?" He said.

"Ah yeah. I got you now!"

The battle was not over, merely equalized. Now, round two could clearly commence.

--

End Chapter.

Translations:

_-Quero­-_I want

-_Luchar_-To fight

­-_Esclava­-_Slave, in the female sense

-_premio_-prize

-_El Voz detras el puerta rojo_- The voice behind the red door

-_Hacedo_-To do, in past tense

­-_desconocido-_strange

­_-Yousenkawa_- Should be literally, "Molten Iron River" in Japanese

_-pecado_-sin


	11. Chapter 11: Lion and Unicorn, Part 2

Darn. Didn't expect having to split the massive battle into two chapters, but…I hope it is to your liking, all the same. Reviews are appreciated, as always, for I like your opinions. I may take some time off, but I'm not sure, but please enjoy yourselves.

Disclaimer: BLEACH! Is not mine. Canopus is mine. Don't use without my permission.

Now, let the story recommence…

--

_**Chapter 11: The Lion and the Unicorn, Part 2**_

_**August 12**__**th**__**, early afternoon…**_

__Takumi looked up, his head flinching in pain, as he sat in his meditative position on the steps of the Mashiba first bank. Though he was born with only two eyes (and the pink-hair certainly was not a product of his parents) his abilities allowed him to keep tract of the battle, and he saw, depending upon where he looked…mixed results. Simultaneously, his forces were winning…and losing. One front was clearly in domination, while the other side was drastically slipping out of his hand. The crunching pains of his head told the tale, as he struggled to hold the illusion, to make everyone able to see nothing but normality.

It was extremely painful, to retain his concentration on his illusion, and feel the vanishing lightning bolts that pierced his head at the same time. Ortiz was alive, this much he knew: He had yet to find anything that could remotely stop the mechanical giant. At the same time, however, Ortiz had waded far away from him, and his place next to the human-sized black box, in the midst of his melee. That left him alone, forced to remain in deep concentration over the mental illusion, and unable to mount a defense. He would not risk exposing the mainstream commoners to the devastation around them. His hypnosis restrained them from panic, and he would let them wonder once they were gone.

Sweat built on his brow, and he keeled over suddenly, his stance almost breaking, as he felt another lightning bolt to his head. A life, destroyed by the edge of a soul reaper. He coughed suddenly, his pink locks falling over his face, and his body chilled as ice from the realization.

"So…Sum Mannus, Garm, and Oracion…they're all dead…May their spirits find…" Takumi did not finish his retort, as he fell into a coughing fit, his spell almost shattering. Hanataro Yamada, standing by, noticed the turn-out, and instinctively reached for his handbag. He stopped only when he realized he was aiding the enemy.

"…huh…huh…may their spirits…find solace in the other dimension…" Takumi finished, breathing heavy.

"Uh…are you okay?" Hanataro meekly asked.

"I have my pains…it is my burden…I've chosen my side, with my brother. You are with the companies. Oh damn…Tamuzu's gonna kill me…"

"Not if we do first." A curt voice fringing to being-pissed off interrupted. The pink-haired youth looked up, to see Yumichika Ayasegawa, Rangiku Matsumoto, and Uryu Ishida, looming over him. In each of their hands was some sort of weapon in addition to their own. A rapier in the hands of Ayasegawa, A club in the hand of Ishida, and a bastard sword in the hand of Matsumoto.

"Ah…so you kill them, and take their weapons? That's banditry, is it not?"

"That's rich coming from you, Soul Reaper." Ishida said, dropping the club and now pointing his bow at his face. Takumi only smiled weakly.

"I have a conscious, and so I can weep for my comrades like you do. Is that so wrong? And I'm not a soul reaper. I am as living as you." Takumi sighed, as if burdening a sadness. "Tell me, Ishida, have you killed a _living being _before?"

"What does it matter?"

"Because I see in your eyes the same look my brother gives everyone. Please be careful, Mr. Ishida. You may become a mass murderer. My brother won't let me kill anyone, for fear of being like him."

Matsumoto lowered her _zan-pakuto _at the pink-flocked neck of Takumi.

"If you surrender, I'll let you live, and arrest you."

"For what? I'm not a hollow, ryoka, or fellow reaper. Ah…you want me to go with you to help Captain Hitsugaya. He's still cut from his powers, and you think he will benefit from my information…" Takumi spoke assuredly and knowingly, as if reciting a theory from his head. He cast his eyes upward, seeing the mild surprise on their faces. "Don't be surprised, Miss Rangiku Matsumoto. It is simply my ability to know things that others do. However, I confess I would be of little help to you."

"And why is that?" Matsumoto asked.

"There are three reasons. First, Captain Hitsugaya lost his powers to Janus Bloodswerth, not me. Only Janus truly knows how his own powers work. Second, you could capture me, but, and I do not mean to be gauche, but my brother would not take kindly to your holding of me. Third…you have allies, don't you? Ikkaku Madarame of 11th Company, Ichigo Kurosaki, son of Isshin, and Sado Tasutora…they are in dire need of your arms, I'm afraid."

A second _zan-pakuto_, this being Yumichika's sickle-shaped blade, came to caress his neck in addition to Matsumoto's. The fop spoke next. "Really? And why do you think Kaku-Chan and the others are in trouble?"

"Because I can hear their screams in my head." came his simple, ominous reply.

For a moment, the trio stood there, the medic Hanataro standing off behind them. However, though he never faltered from his folded stance, his hands intertwined as he continued his 'spell', the pink-locked Takumi looked up again, his eyes bearing a considerable pain impossible in the heart of a sociopath.

"I beg you, save your friends. For Ortiz will destroy them."

Matsumoto's face became set, the decision being made long ago. She could tell this one had limited powers, as did the others that she defeated. Then, bereft of her talkative mentality, Matsumoto _shun-poed _off, Yumichika, Ishida, and Hanataro scrambling after her.

Unbeknownst to them, Takumi let out one last statement. "They still haven't figured out the purpose of this fight…gods forgive me."

--

To say that Ichigo was overwhelmed, part by shock and part by a raging juggernaut, would be a world-breaking understatement. He wasn't just being overwhelmed; He was getting _owned_. And for the life of him, he did not know why.

_Maybe, I shouldn't have called the freak a freak…_Ichigo's thoughts trailed, as he found himself a rare breather, trying to hoist himself back to his feet. His body, though admittedly could be worse, shivered and quivered from the number of crash-landings that occurred to him. The pavement, the streetlights, the cars, and anything else that wasn't nailed to the sidewalk, bore the depressions of contortion, either bearing a large, fist-shaped tattoo, or bearing the mold of a body (either his, Chad's or Ikkaku's).

_Dude, its freakin' three-on-one! You can't tell me this guy's that strong! And for the love of all that's magical! What is that dude made of?!_

As he pulled himself up, having weathered another storm and still able to move his bones, he saw his melee comrades-at-arms in various places of the quickly disintegrating city block. Ikkaku's body, from his rear to his shoulder-blades, was lodged uncomfortably in a car windshield, as if pitched there like a fast ball. His eyes were watery, as if he was trying to fight unconsciousness as well as scraping his body out of the windshield. His kimono and hakama had been reduced to rags, torn as if their enemy had ripped the fabrics off. Bruises were already beginning to form, dotting his body like a paint-by-numbers. If he wasn't a Soul Reaper, chances are he would have been killed, as he had taken more than his share of blunt trauma.

Chad found himself in a much more dangerous situation. Unlike Ichigo, who was ambling towards the melee (The pedestrians again emphatically unaware of the harrowing destruction around them), the Mexican-blood student traded blows with the cobalt-steel nightmare, standing clearly within arms reach of the much larger opponent. Chad had speed, at least that much was sure, and his armor seemed capable of repelling the concrete-shearing fists of the giant Ortiz. What amazed him more was that when Chad struck a blow (for Ortiz's weight prevented him from clever speed), the giant actually reeled. Pain was absent, as he had no skin to cut or bruise, but he was pushed outside of his immovable image with each of the Mexican-blood student's muscle.

_All right Chad. Maybe we have a chance after all…_

_**Do not let your guard down, Ichigo. This is a dangerous opponent. I cannot hurt him in my current state. **_Inside his mind, Zangetsu explained with an intelligence unprecedented in the strawberry-blond's capacity.

_Well crap. What am I supposed to do?_

_**Guarding Rukia might be the best solution. If this mechanical menace gets past Chad…he will target her for exposing his bulk. **_

_Some guard I'm supposed to be. Didn't you say you couldn't hurt him?_

_**We can't kill him, not in my current form. But perhaps we can hold him off. Until the other Soul Reapers arrive, we must hold him off.**_

__Ichigo spat out from the answer. A part of him wanted to join the fight, but he looked behind him, seeing an unconscious Rukia and a straining Orihime. Having had to heal Chad once today, it was obvious the battle was taking an indirect toll of his female classmate as well.

_**Do not let your emotions get the better of you, **_Zangetsu enigmatically warned.

In the midst of the fight, Chad continued to bob-and-weave through the slower punches aimed at his head. Several times Ortiz lunged a bit with each punch, and each punch imitated a wrecking ball, for rather than maiming Chad, as was the intention of each skeletal-shaped knuckle, the fist careened into a foreign object, smashing it to obliteration. Sometimes it would be a parked car. Sometimes it would be a piece of a wall. Sometimes it would be a store window. But fortunately, each blow missed, and the integrity of Chad's body was luckily preserved.

"Dag'nabit, kiddo. Stop moving around!" The giant bellowed, again causing a chill run down the watching Ichigo's back. How could something that inhuman in appearance talk so human?

_**I appear human, Ichigo. But I am not. Conquer your revulsion, or else you will remain weak. **_

Ichigo barely heard his _zanpaku-to_ spirit's lecture. The giant again lunged forward with a malicious fist, missed Chad again, but driving his arm all the way up to the shoulder in a tunnel of masonry. Temporarily held, Chad saw his chance, and leapt in with a destructive fist, climaxing in a muted boom.

Due to his position, that of being held in the masonry, Ortiz did not bother to dodge or block. But he did recoil, and for the first time, he was knocked off his feet, a section of the masonry that held him being blasted to bits by the explosion of Chad's armored right arm. Smoke coagulated from the cobalt-blue armor, gathering dust to replace its reflective properties. A deceptive earthquake reverberated under the street, its source not being a trembling from underground, but rather the touching-down of Ortiz's metallic girth. Asphalt flew Zionward in chunks, threatening to bludgeon passersby and any pigeons that dare mar the air. But Chad was not perturbed. Seeing his advantage, the rejuvenated strong-arm jumped, and landed in a perfectly-timed mount, on top of the cobalt giant.

Perhaps the giant swore. If he did, it was silenced by the resounding booms of his massive right arm. Empowered by his latent energy and an evident desire to protect through destruction, Chad brought the hammer down in timed successions, each strike creating a detonation of his power, all lowered on the bisected face of Ortiz. Metal gave some to the temerity of his blows, and he kept bringing them in full supply, the demand increased ever so by his desire to protect, to protect by eliminating the monster. Yet Ichigo could tell that even Chad, whose strength and durability was legendary on his middle-school campus, was becoming fatigued. Each explosion was minutely quieter than the one that preceded it, and the tempo that his strikes paid obeisance to slowed gradually, going from _allegro _to _moderato _to _adagio _to _lento_. His armor seemed lethargic, but he kept pummeling, each punch losing its force, but each one using a lot of energy.

Eventually, after landing over fifteen shots, Chad stopped, his breathes coming a bit more haggard. If it had been a matter of brute strength alone, Chad was indefatigable. But he was using spirit energy, something that can be increased in capacity, but takes time to regenerate. It was a newer concept to Chad than his accustomed strength, an unfamiliar one that he had yet to fully understand. His armor began to fade, and, seeing the inert form of his adversary…Chad relinquished his mount, and stood up.

Ichigo was ecstatic, as his burly friend got up. "Good job, Chad! You beat him down real good!"

_"…_Yeah." Chad silently responded. Perspiration was winding down his brow, another clear indicator to his fatigue.

_**Ichigo. Wait. There may be something amiss.**_

_What are ya talking about? _

_**Just a feeling. I am stronger than Chad, if not in brute force than in finesse. However, this giant withstood all of my blade, but succumbed to your friend's fists. It seems peculiar.**_

_We can't feel any spiritual pressure, so he's gotta be dead._

_**Ichigo. He did HAVE any spiritual pressure to begin with. And I do not think Chad has the ability to kill, as it is. **_

_And you say that because…?_

_**He is still of sound mind. **_Zangetsu responded enigmatically. _**Should Ortiz still be alive, do not let your emotions control you. It will be very…ruinous for you.**_

__Ichigo did not respond to his internal spirit. Instead he watched, as Chad neared him, taking his time due in part to both his supposed victory and his own lassitude.

Perhaps he should have run, in hindsight.

Ichigo just barely noticed it, and found Zangetsu's prediction confirmed. He did not immediately notice how the plastic garbage bin beside when Chad executed his pummeling started to grow in height, its base hidden by a parked car beside them. The meandering pedestrians only added to the lack of foresight, for he failed to see the devastation about to be wrought. The plastic garbage bin finally did reach high enough to wear it was taller than the two adolescents, and Ichigo, with Zangetsu's internal ramblings accompanying him, caught sight.

His words were not fast enough. "Chad! Behind y-"

The garbage bin was hurled at Chad, and bounced off harmlessly. Having endured both a motorcycle accident and a falling I-beam before, Chad's iron body was practically immune to plastic projectiles, no matter how big or how quickly thrown. However, the garbage bin was merely a distraction, for a real threat took advantage.

Chad turned around to see what had caused the poltergeist garbage bin. In surprise, and completely against expectation, was a dented, leering, lion-faced Ortiz, his cobalt-blue armor now distorted from the rapid explosions of Chad's right hand, and in complete need of polishing.

That was the only thing Chad saw, before his breath completely left him. The right arm of Ortiz surpassed his notice with cheetah-powered speed, almost boring into his rock-hard abdomen as if it was made of rubber. The unusual cylinder at the rear of his right tricep jutted out unrepentantly, reminding Ichigo of a hammer on a gun, and without a slurred, carefree word, the cylinder at the bottom of his arm pressed back in, creating an explosion of its own. The detonation occurred at Chad's stomach, directly where the skeletal knuckles were, and the explosion exceeded anything Chad himself could produce. Like a brilliant bomb, Chad was propelled skyward from the knuckle-based blast, hurling him at speeds that normally would result in a speeding ticket. Where he landed, Ichigo could not say, only seeing his burly friend soar overhead, and back near the bank

"Oh ho yea! I friggin' told ya I'd get ya! Did I or did I not say I'd get ya?!" The lion-faced giant laughed cruelly, his mechanical mandible artificially moving to form the words. "Damn it. I paid him for blowin' my friggin' cigar t'smithereens. He's probably dead now."

"…What did…you…say…?" Ichigo struggled to form the words, to form the reality.

"Gha ha! 'At spic o'er 'ere hit me pretty hard, I will admit. But I've taken a lot werse, ya know. He's got not uh damn thing on 'Nam. And besides…my armor can wit'stand booms to 'e face. I don't think his skin could take my depth charge to 'e face, eh?"

"You killed him?"

"I might've." Ortiz's candid comeback did nothing to simmer the boiling emotions taking hold in Ichigo's head.

"Then I'll make you _pay_."

"'At's rich comin' from uh guy who hasn't even laid a scratch on me. Ya think ya got what it takes? Ha!"

Ichigo made to jump, but again he was internally reprimanded from within by his _zanpaku-to _spirit. Interestingly, his voice appeared somewhat faint now. Also stopping his immediate assault was Ikkaku's impromptu leap into the fray. Blood was profusely pouring from his bald cranium, and again he was almost denuded from the fight, but these two monsters drew themselves to battle once more. However, though Ikkaku's will was insurmountable, his body's power was infinite. Ichigo and Ortiz knew this.

"Ah. Ya nevva learn, eh?"

At the start of the battle, Ikkaku was far too fast for Ortiz to hit with his slow punches, but his method of counter-throwing was finally paying off. The 3rd seat of 11th company had been tossed into so many unforgiving surfaces so far, that not even his iron body, battered as it was, could hold itself together, after the merciless blows reigned down on him. A series of deliberate hooks found Ikkaku's nose and temple, making him sway and utterly demolishing his nose, before he turned into his left hook, and climaxed with a discus backhand. While it lacked the explosive power of his right, as made evident with Chad, the bald Soul Reaper crashed to the ground, his head busted and bleeding after bouncing off the commonplace sidewalk. For a moment, Ichigo thought he heard the cracking of bone, signaling either Ikkaku's injury, or fatality.

_**Ichigo. Please control yourself. Do not attack with abandon.**_

__The siren voice of Zangetsu was falling on deaf ears. In spite of his more animated pleas, Ichigo's mind was turning willfully to bloodlust. The lack of remorse displayed by the mechanical monster combined with the sheer brutality being exacted on his friends was turning his stomach. He was losing his patience significantly, and the sight of seeing his comrades getting virtually killed was more than even he could stand.

_Darn it…First Rukia, then Chad, and now Baldy…I'd kill him if I had the power…_

Zangetsu noticed this within, and shouted in an enfeebled whisper. He might as well been shouting in a hurricane, for his cries were muted for one reason or another, and Ichigo failed to hear him.

It did not hinder Ichigo's livid cognition.

Ortiz, his attention focused on the downed Soul Reaper, nonchalantly demonstrated further lack of respect, as he kicked Ikkaku with his turtloid shelled foot, knocking his limp body into the air and onto his back. Ikkaku did not howl, indicating his being of unconscious and near-death. Ichigo could still see the slow rises of his bare chest, though the tempo was slowing down with each breath taken. Orihime or Hanataro could've healed him, Ichigo knew, but Hanataro was at the other battle, and Orihime was medicating Rukia behind him.

"Hey! Ya must not really care for yer buddies, if yer still standin' o'er 'ere!" Ortiz taunted, now carefully planting a elephantine foot on Ikkaku's sternum. "Soul Reaper here's gonna die, ya know, if he doan get uh medic pronto. But I see ju'how concerned ya are. Why doan I do ya uh favor, eh? How 'bout, since yer so damned concerned 'bout yer buddies, I _keel _'em all, an' we gottit all t'ourselves. Whaddya say?"

Ichigo had no voice, but his face contorted in such a way that no mask of anger could compare. His face angled and warped to an ugly, ghastly, visage, more horrific than honorable. His hands shook from the implacable, volcanic rage bubbling dangerously inside of him. Stress clawed at him, while ironically, Zangetsu became eerily silent, as if frightened by Ichigo's very powder keg of ire.

"I won't forgive you." Ichigo muttered.

The human eye of Ortiz widened, "What ya say? Ah, hale. If yer ust gonna stand 'ere like uh yella-belly coward, 'en I'm gonna crush 'is bald-face. See-ya, kiddo."

Ichigo did not respond with words. His rage had possessed him, forgoing from a sycophantic shadow to the puppeteer in his cranium. He saw nothing in front of him, and heard nothing around him. Not Orihime's soft pleadings and concerned interrogations, nor the pedestrians straddling about them, nor even the wind in his ear. He did not hear Ortiz's inquiry, but he saw him. The substitute soul reaper lost track of time: One moment he was standing as a steadfast guard, next to Orihime and Rukia. Then next, as his darkening eyes (_The day seemed to be getting darker,_ Ichigo thought absently) locked on to the lion-faced giant, his cobalt-blue bulk heaving up to smash Ikkaku's heart to innumerable pieces, Ichigo found himself on top of the giant, his blade cutting at the lifted leg of his armor. Though all it produced was a resounding clang, Ortiz did not anticipate the attack, and so he lost his balance, crashing to the asphalt.

Ichigo did not hear the aftershock it produced.

Instead, he leapt upon the giant, yelling out a war cry that does not manifest in the son of a clinician, and aimed his sword at the best, instinctive, vulnerable weak point: The _Eye_.

He came within shaky centimeters of penetrating that pale, sky-blue eye. Zangetsu was intercepted only just by his skeletal left hand, its hydraulic power countering Ichigo's maddening rage by a slight margin. The cigar, impossibly still in his mouth, finally fell to the side, as if the jest had ended.

"…Now 'ere's uh familiar face." Ortiz boomed, again creating the alien mixture of mechanical echo over vindictive drawl. "Why yer eye goin' black, eh?"

Ichigo had no answer for the impossibility. By now, he was consumed by something more than just rage, though he himself couldn't put it on his finger.

"Ah, well. How many times does it take? Yer ­_Zan-pakto _can't harm me. No _zan-pakto _can bust 'rough my armor, kiddo. Get mad all ya want. I'll beat ya in 'e end." As if aware of this fact, Ortiz switched hands, grabbing the near-eye-slaughtering cleaver with his right, and pulling his left up. The four blades at the elbow straightened out suddenly, and began to rotate, as if it were a top. The left arm, up to the elbow, also began to rotate, its speed quickly blinding its characteristics, and strangely taking on a cyan light other than the cobalt armor.

_I will…I will…_

"Banzai, kiddo."

Had Ichigo not been so consumed by a hunger for death, perhaps he would've noticed the danger manifesting in the left arm. He had seen Chad do something similar, seen Urahara do something similar, and each time created destructive aftershocks. If he had been lucid and calm, avoidance would've been effortless. But Ichigo was a murderous pit-bull, and he wanted to pry open the monster's armor.

So, when the rotating left arm let out a blue-light beam of energy, he could not evade its path. The blast rammed into his body, forcing him off, and sending him sprawling a block away. The beam pushed him into the driver's side of a car, and from that it shoved the soul reaper and the car into more cars.

Eventually, the beam relented, and Ichigo slumped to the ground, a block and a half away from the mechanical monster. At his back was a car pile up, and yet no one, not even the drivers, noticed anything was wrong. Neither did Ichigo, his respiratory system going into overdrive as he tried to struggle up.

_**Hey.**_A voice croaked in his head, surly and satin in its design. _**Looks like your getting your butt whooped.**_

___Zangetsu?_

_**He's out to lunch right now. I'm his stand in. Call me Jester, since you're the King.**_

___What do you want, Jester? _Ichigo could feel his ribs resonating, as if the bones cracked together.

_**I'm gonna save your butt, of course. Give you some power why you rest. You'd like that, I can guess. **_Ichigo realized the guy sounded lie a used car salesman. His eyes focused on the approaching mechanical monster, and he realized the beast wasn't even winded yet.

_This is my fight._

_**I'm in here too, just so you know. If you go get yourself killed, King, I die too.**_

___And you think you can do any better?_

_**I know I can, King. I don't hold back, hehehe….Besides…isn't that freak gonna kill Rukia? You haven't done anything to slow him down. Step back a bit! Tag me it! I'll take care of it, hehehe…**_

__Ichigo frowned in thought, but he realized the voice called "Jester" had a point. Nothing he had done was working. So what was the harm in this?

_Okay. I'll tag you in. But you do anything funny, and I'll-_

_**Relax, King. I'll leave you with a smile on your face, when I finish him off…don't worry a drop.**_

___Hurry up then!_

As Ichigo's ego faded into the recesses of his mind, he swore he could hear a sinister chuckling, from the voice that so brazenly named him "King"…

--

Ortiz did not notice anything that would indicate a metamorphosis, but even his average intelligence could sense that something had come over the boy. And it wasn't just the eyes, which had gone from an ivory white to a shadowy, hooded, malevolent black.

Now, it was his posture, which slumped briefly, only to cock itself back up like a cadaver, and sneer at him. Ortiz stopped his slow advance, and stared hard at the boy.

"Dag'nabit kiddo. Ya lose yer contacts?"

The boy didn't say a thing. Rather, he dusted off his kimono and hakama, and raised his cleaver blade.

"Still wanna continue, eh?" Ortiz muttered briefly.

Finally the orange-haired reaper spoke. "**I'm gonna eat your soul, freak**."

If Ortiz was intimidated, he didn't show it. "Big words from uh kiddo. C'min try it. I'll blow your head offor callin' me a _freak!_"

His left arm started to rotate again, the blue energy building as a bazooka, but he failed to account for the boy. As if a seal had been placed on him, the boy jumped with greater speed than before. _Zan-pakuto_ born with insatiable malice, Ichigo slashed fervently and fast, uncaring to the fact that his blade still was not breaching his armor. Instead, he seemed to enjoy the vindictive, albeit unproductive thrashing, as the blade clipped on his armor. Ortiz reared back for a knock-out punch, but the now-black-eyed adolescent jumped back and straddled his bulky shoulders.

"**I told you, I'm gonna eat your soul. But first, I'll make you bow down.**"

"Fat chan-"

Ortiz was interrupted, as Ichigo's blade drove itself into the mechanical giant's artificial mouth. Stuck in his mandible, one of the only openings of the body, the dark-eyed soul reaper punched at the cobalt head of Ortiz, aware of the damage being inflicted back, but holding a berserker's philosophy in that _he did not care_.

Eventually, Ichigo finally managed to get the monster to his knees, though it took now broken hands to do it. His fists rimmed with blood, and he pulled his sword out of the mouth of Ortiz.

"**Now, how do I cut you open?"**

"Ya punk…" The mandible struggled to move and vocalize.

"**I know! I'll use the host's life energy. I'll pump up my blade, and kill you!!**"

Ichigo, now demon-possessed in his desire for vengeance, reared back his cleaver-blade, both broken hands clasping the sweating, wet pommel. But Ichigo left himself open, again. A dangerous opponent like Ortiz should never be taken lightly.

Which was his mistake.

Ortiz's left arm, spinning still though the whole exchange, jutted forward, and fired a more compact blast at Ichigo. Panicked, the substitute soul reaper slashed through, dissipating the energy beam. However, this was a diversion: Ortiz found his footing, and quickly nailed an uppercut to the dark-eyed teen's jaw line. Before he got too high from the ground, Ortiz nonchalantly grabbed his ankle, and slammed him down to the concrete with all his might.

A loud, sickening crunch followed the reaper's ungraceful impact. Ichigo did not move, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and his eye coloration returning to a pure white.

"Dag'nabit. I need uh cigar," The lion-faced giant mused. "Yer dangerous. I betta keel ya…" His arm began once more to revolve and hum, generating its own hypnotic white noise, and reared itself towards Ichigo's unconscious body.

"G'night, kiddo."

His eye only just caught the new arrival, and he barely avoided the attack. A soot-styled projectile cut at his face, burning superficially, but still burning his metallic head case. Surprised, Ortiz jumped back, abandoning his execution.

"Ortiz! Please desist! There is no more need of bloodshed and murder!" A naïve voice rang through out.

"Ah, dag'nabit, Takumi. Why 'e crap should I stop?!"

"Because…I will be forced to stop you." A new voice, strong, feminine, and packed with veracity, joined in a double-prong of surprise. Ortiz looked briefly behind him, to see an exhausted Takumi approaching, then turned to his front to see Matsumoto, Ayasegawa, and Ishida, all weapons bared and the want of war on their faces.

Matsumoto remained composed, his Hai-neko at the ready in _shikai _form, while Ortiz's left arm continued to whirl, producing his blaster energy. His leonine face tried to curl into a sneer, as he spoke.

"He ha…Damn. Ya look like uh hooker." Ortiz shamelessly said. His arm raised and cocked itself at the Lieutenant of 10th division. "If I had my body back…oh yeah."

"Try me. You and Canopus have caused enough trouble."

"Heh. Yer not backing down! Good fer ya!"

The two, the strawberry-blond Soul Reaper and the metallic behemoth, seemed poised to start the fight, but on both sides an interloper appeared. On Ortiz's side, a frantic Takumi stepped in, placing himself in front of the blaster arm. On Matsumoto's it was Orihime, who had all but descending into hysterics at the state of Ichigo Kurosaki.

"Ichigo!"

"Ortiz! Please, enough! Our order are not to eliminate them! Please! Spare them!"

Matsumoto tensed, as did her two seconds behind her. But Ortiz looked long at his fellow, before turning his blaster arm off, the skeletal metal slowing its rotation, until reaching a singular stasis. The sneer on his leonine face made it all apparent.

"Wha's yer name, blondie?" Ortiz drawled.

"Rangiku Matsumoto, Lieutenant-captain of 10th division."

"Name's Ortiz. 'Member it, cause I wanna finish 'is. Oh, 'is here is Takumi Warunabe. A psychic likes yas. Now C'mon, Pinky. I need uh cigar." The giant adopted his carefree attitude, as if nothing, the destruction surrounding him which they all had caused, was nothing special at all. As if nothing had happened, and the coalition intending to attack him now was not even worth his notice. The smoke rising from his metallic skull did not go unnoticed by Matsumoto.

Her gazed turned now to Takumi, who looked torn between intense concentration and intense anguish. He looked forlorn at the area around him, and the commoners that were still oblivious to the damage around him. The pink-haired youth's words were somewhat of a surprise.

"I'm terribly sorry for this."

"You can apologize by surrendering." Matsumoto quipped. Ishida's arrows seemed a bit eager, but she herself wanted to avoid a fight.

"I wish I could, but my brother would be very mad. I can't let you capture me. But I can help you another way." Takumi said, his face showing a naïve hopefulness Rangiku rarely encountered in an enemy. "Currently I am holding this part of the city in a illusion. I can wait until you leave before I release it. But maybe I can do one better."

"Speak then, would you?"

"…you said you were of the 10th division, right? Captain Hitsugaya's corp.? Is he safe?"

"Of course he is. He's in…" Her voice trailed off suddenly as she peered for a clock behind her.

"_Are you certain?_"

Matsumoto looked around, and spotted a clock. The clock read 4:10.

"Please…go and make sure. I don't think you want to replace him…just yet. I do not agree with Canopus's ways, but…"

The gangly Takumi said nothing else, his face a picture of morose sorrow, but he moved on. His last sentence struck the truth to her, and how tactical this group of Canopus was.

"Yumichika! Come with me!" Matsumoto roared at her realization. This whole foray, despite its destructive damage, was a mere _decoy_. These two were not their enemies…it was not Matsumoto's priority to kill or capture these two, as much as it was to save Toshiro's life…

Leaving Orihime, Ishida, and Hanataro to tend to the fallen, Yumichika and Matsumoto _shun-poed _to the skies, aware now of the true danger…

--

_**August 12**__**th**__**, Eastern Mashiba District…**_

__As a Soul Reaper captain, Toshiro had seen many _zanpaku-tos, _each with their own powers of enhancement and forms. From his own Hyourinmaru, a single-edged blade accompanied with chain that was a big as himself, to Matsumoto's Nai-neko, a blade which became a cloud of sulfuric ash, to Izuru's Wabisuke, which became hooked on command and increased weight…the possibilities of power were endless. The only constant that seemed to befit each blade, despite the radical differences encountered at either the _shikai _or _bankai _stages, was that the power was tailor-made for the user. At least that was the theory. Why Toshiro could understand his own, he failed to understand others, like Izuru, Abarai, or Aizen. However, looking at Karin now, who had clashed swords with her adversary, he found the attribute of this blade…interesting.

Karin's smaller form struggled, holding not a blade at all but a small war hammer, forcing back as much as she could the tizona held by the dapper Janus Bloodswerth. From the clash of their weapons arose a pungent smoke, which Toshiro drew his eyes to. The _zanpaku-to _held by Karin was actually melting the saber held by Bloodswerth, eating through it as if it were a paper before a flame. Whether or not Janus himself could notice this, or _did _notice and chose not to do anything, eluded the 10th division captain, who remained barred from entry of the fight by the _Electric Sky Fence _conjured by the dandy. Instead he could only observe the steady smelting of the tizona, until finally, it fell in half.

Karin saw her chance and tried to swipe with her newly acquired power, but Janus vanished and reappeared a safe distance away.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. So that is your power." His face contorted, frowning despite his amused words, before restating. "No…perhaps I should correct myself. My employer did mention something, about this."

Toshiro again turned his eyes to the _zan-pakuto _resting in Karin's hands, and he mused the impossibility set before him. Karin was clearly alive, that much was obvious due to her strain…so then how was she wielding a _zan-pakuto _at all? Only a soul reaper could use a _zan-pakuto, _create and manifest a _zan-pakuto_…and yet Karin, still alive, still human, produced one…

"I see you are under a great deal of strain. _Que lastima._ You may or may not be the entertainment I seek…but you are _una esclava _after all." He turned his eyes to his now-sundered sword, its top half melted away by sheer contact. "Perhaps I need to open my eyes better to understand. Time to make this more exciting."

Karin gave a look of repressed exasperation. "Look, weirdo! I just melted your sword! Can't we call this off? I'm sure you'd be embarrassed if a little girl kicked your butt!"

_Don't provoke him anymore, Karin… _Toshiro thought internally, delegating his attention to the fight.

"Ha. If a little _Niña _indeed beat me…I would have more dignity in a coffin. However, before I totally outclass you…let us set _tarjetas _on the _mesa_. _Yo estoy el Diablo Sellado Siete_. Do you know why? It is because of my abilities, which there are seven of. My _sellos_…which I can activate at anytime, or in combination. The exceptions are these: _Sello Septimo, _which is in constant activation, as it is a medium of my skin…and _Sello Cuarto_…which is in my retinas."

"…I'm really getting tired of hearing your trap." Karin conceded.

The _Diablo_ paid her no mind. "_Espada. Escudo. Pies Rapidez. Revelacion. Zona. Criatura. _And _Energia Amplificador. _Those are my Seven-Seals, embroidered on my flesh as per runes of power. Tattoos of my abilities, that can never be erased from my nervous system, no matter how many times they are cut off. As you have noticed, I can use my _Sellos _in combinations, though each is powerful on its own. I will show you my _Sello Cuarto_ now."

And then, he took off his hat.

Though Toshiro had the 'privilege' of fighting this dapper dandy twice before, the man never took off his hat voluntarily, and even when it was removed, Hitsugaya didn't get a chance to catch his eyes. But now, with that sable fedora cast aside, both Soul Reaper and Kurosaki scion received their chance for a gander. His eyes were a blemish in comparison to the rest of his well-kept body. While his tuxedo, his shoes, his gloves, his hat, were all kept and polished with superhuman fastidiousness, the eyes of Janus Bloodswerth did not match at all the kempt outlook of a gentleman. Much like with his almost albino skin, Janus had mars on his face: A tribal like insignia lay embroidered on his pasty forehead, curling like a snake around his chocolate eyes in a lavender dye. This removed the normality from an otherwise sunshine-required face, added only further by the contours and angles apparent in his face.

He glanced over at Toshiro and then back at Karin, allowing his elongated black hair to shimmer down. "Ah…so that explains everything. _Pedono_ me, _por favor_. It seems you are not as arrogant as I first believed, _dragon pequeno_. And you…that spirit in your forge hammer is waking…will you be so brazen when _it _is aware of its original master's absence?"

"…What the crap are you-"

Karin cut off her question instantly, as Janus leapt into the fray, dashing in while simultaneously producing another tizona to replace his broken one. Karin used her soccer skills to evade the vertical slash, taking solace in distance.

Janus lost his habit for small talk, robotically slashing without reprieve. Karin defended as best she could, taking comfort in the face that the mere contact of her hammer's head would melt his blade. However, Janus learned from his first mistake, his eyes beaming, mirroring his widening smile, as he evaded her war hammer with accuracy. Toshiro did not like how this was turning out. Though Karin had the higher spiritual pressure, she had no experience, a factor this foppish hitman had in abundance. He also realized that, even if Karin struck his sword, he could produce another and another from his hand. The fight would last only as long as the man was entertained.

_No…Karin can win this…somehow…_

Fury finally peaked at his frustration. The energy fence in front of him was barring his attempt to help, and an innate desire to protect was sundering his conscious. Did he want to help? Of course! Did he have the ability? Did he have Hyourinmaru? No.

Did that matter?

The swords dance in front of him, beyond the Fence, continued without abating. Karin would rear back and swing her bludgeon as if it were a baseball bat, leaving glaring evidence of her experience deficit, and miss at each wide swing. By the time she finished the swing, the Seven-Sealed Devil would circle around and try to poke her in the back. Only luck allowed her to raise her _zan-pakuto _and guard against him.

"I will cut you up, _esclava_." Janus would chide at each guard. Not a fool to make a second mistake, the dandy withdrew his tizona from contact from her blade, avoiding the melting touch of her _zan-pakuto_.

"Better hurry if you want to defeat me."

"Shut up!"

"That blade is not meant for you, _esclava_. Kiiromori said it belonged to another. How you injected it escapes my eyes but…oh well. Try to entertain me."

Karin struck right when he finished his sentence, taking advantage of his monologue. The blade seared into his foppish clothes, cutting without mercy into his body. Yet Toshiro could tell it was not enough. The grey droplets leaking from the hammer continued to pilfer the earth and the fop, but Bloodswerth retained his pallid composure. His sabers, brought up in a half-hearted guard, liquidated instantly. Letting go of the remnants, he looked at the dark-haired girl in the eyes, his mouth a small, dilapidated mockery of a smile.

"You cannot beat me with _una espada_ that does not belong to you, no matter how great your conviction is. Those without power are spineless worms…and the spirit you forcibly put inside of you…is awakening. You are losing your edge, _Niña_. Enjoy that power while you can, for power often comes too great a price."

Karin grimaced audibly, but her drive exceeded her knowledge. Her attention seemed divided, for some reason or another. As if she was inside her thoughts as well as fighting a battle…

_"_Those with both conviction and power are fated to victory and grandeur, as I shall be with each victory. And those without, as you and your dragon master so clearly lack…Are destined to die…like you and I."

"Karin!" Toshiro called out, his body ramming into the _Electric Sky Fence _in his magnetic want. As Karin seemed somewhat out of it, spacing out as one may say, the Devil walked delicately to her, with his tizona in hand. His smile continued to widen, and his arm mechanically, surgically, rose, before descending as a thunderbolt from the heavens. Toshiro churned a second shout at Karin.

Karin did not raise her hammer _zan-pakuto _in time, but she did not shout a death wail either (Toshiro mentally thanked his and her lucky stars). Interestingly, The Seven-Sealed Devil stopped his swing from its fatalistic passage into her head, and instead halted just short of her neck. The tizona blade glistened, and he looked down upon her, hypnotized by some unseen force.

"Ah. Amusing. Yousenkawa is awake. _Mi Sello Cuarto _reveals that to me. And I'm guessing, it is not pleased a little _Niña_ is holding him. Ha. Ha." His emotional void gave all the explanation Hitsugaya needed, and again he rushed the fence, trying to ignore the pain, replace it in his brain for the cold he has become accustomed to.

"So, little _esclava_, what will you do? You cannot control an alien _zan-pakuto _spirit. Surrender? Die? You are destined to, as I. And you, _capitan decimo_," He shifted mid-sentence, turning to the rampaging Toshiro, who was flinging his body at the nerve-raking conjured fence. "Settle down, _por favor_. I shall _luchar _you when you have a significant reason to fight me."

"If you spill a drop of her blood, I will annihilate you."

Toshiro was surprised by the veracity of his own words. He knew intuitively, that he meant exactly what he said. Neither his brain nor his heart could deny that. And yet…why had he said it? A thousand time streams with a thousand more questions passed in his head, instinctive more than conscious, and he realized the true depth of his rage…it was not something unfamiliar to him…for he had felt it before, when Momo had been concerned. When Momo had been threatened by a hollow, had he not been the one rushing to her aid, if not Kira, Renji, or Captain Aizen? So why did he feel such lethal belligerence, such killing intent, towards this man? This insignificant man, that held no care over his own continued existence…sought to murder him. That he could endure. This whoever…this lopsided view of his own proud diginity…and his uncaring attitude towards others, namely Karin in this case…He was breathing fire. All he could see was that man, who so sacrilegiously named himself a Devil.

The Seven-Sealed Devil turned away from him, amused perhaps by his threat, or maybe bored. He turned his head to the environment around him, in the shabby lot he had chosen for their battle stage. His sable-colored hair turned up to the sky, eyeing the scaly white clouds and the ocean-blue sky, before lowing his heavenly gaze to the earth. His eyes scanned the weed-infested grass, the brother buildings between that beleaguered them in their ill states of frame, and then back to Karin herself, still spaced out from some circumstance Hitsugaya had yet to uncover. His blade was still held at the tomboy's neck, pathetic in its defense against her dribbling war hammer. His body from the neck down was rigid as glass, and then he cast his eyes back to him, aware perhaps of the _Electric Sky Fence _now for some unexplainable reason, evaporating from Toshiro Hitsugaya's sight. His small, restrained smile was there, under his piercing brown eyes, his face now a scene of visible delight. He pulled back his tizona, and Toshiro saw a small slick of crimson fluid on the tip of the blade.

What Janus Bloodswerth said next was a phrase Toshiro Hitsugaya would hear across time streams, though for now he would only hear it before intelligence gave way to ancestry protocol.

"You shouldn't make rash threats. It makes you seem weak."

Toshiro lost his cool, and charged. His body, no longer confined by the whims of the _Electric Sky Fence_, dashed straight for the smirking dandy. His hand grabbed at the gladius left inert in the soil, jerked it out, and continued like a murderous assassin at the tuxedoed man. The blade trembled from the frosty anger emitted from its caretaker, and Toshiro almost smiled at the surety of his victory. He wanted ordered vengeance, even at the small slight. He wanted to erase that smile of the terrorizing narcissus before him. Nearing him, so focused, so mentally wound, that he twirled his gladius for the killing strike, missing the muttered words of the Seven Sealed Devil until it was too late.

"_Combinan, Sellos Primero y Tercero: Illusory Vine Swords._"

Toshiro Hitsugaya did not see the swords move, as he thrust the gladius at the black heart of his adversary. He did not see the smile on the man's face widen, nor the eyes of the warped gentleman dilate with the prattle of his incantation. Instead, Toshiro briefly saw the world as it was in normal color, and then saw his gladius break to three pieces, cut asunder by an unseen force. The next thing he saw was his world become tainted by a chunky vermillion, as if red wine had been poured into his eyes. But he knew better, as he recognized the smell and the sticky sensation. His hands instinctively reached to remove the foreign liquid from his pupils, and then the pain erupted. From his back, from his front, from his forehead, and from his legs, torture carefully collected upon his nerves, as tissue fell to an unseen knife. Toshiro halted his rush, bypassing the still-smiling dandy in his failed charge, collapsing into the paralyzed Karin. She jostled to her senses suddenly, and blanched at Toshiro's injuries. The snow-haired captain himself wavered in and out from feeling them…for he could not be sure of pain, with adrenaline surmounting his senses.

"Ha. Ha. Amusing. Neither conviction nor power, and still you seek to kill me. Hate is neither power nor conviction. It is an iceberg, _dragon pequeno_. A frozen mass, that can do nothing but melt in its uselessness. You'll never beat me with-Ah!"

His sentence ended with a commencement of emotion he had failed to demonstrate ever since their memory-split first meeting, as Karin, even an X-factor, implanted herself into the scene. Bloodswerth's only target had been Hitsugaya himself, and with his arrogance sky-rocketing from 'wounding the dragon', he had failed to take notice of the '_esclava_'. His hubris was his undoing, as while Karin could not (thankfully) kill with a hammer, she could strike hard enough.

Thus, when she raised her war hammer up, and swung it like a bat into his flank, the Seven-Sealed Devil took the full brunt flat-footed. Satin fabric and albino flesh seared like roasting meat with contact of Yousenkawa's head upon his side, and a human as he was, pain proved a proficient reactant. His stance of perfect confidence faltered, and his voice raked out a shriek. His swords abandoned his hands, and his footing dropped from the burning hot metal penetrating his nerves.

"I thought I told you to shut up." Karin wryly replied.

Bloodswerth peeled himself off of the hammer, a hand reaching instinctively for the wound. From where Karin had struck lay a hole of blackened epidermis, wounded by the hammer _zan-pakuto_. His face dropped its smile entirely, and he brought his hands up to demonstrate his displeasure.

"How dare you, _una esclava impotente_, strike me? Me. Januarius Bloodswerth. _El Diablo Sellado Siete._ You had a chance to flee. Now, you are simply destined to die…with _tu dragon_."

"Toshiro's my friend." The 10th captain heard the dark-haired girl state. "I won't let you hurt him!"

"Then…you will be fortunate. Ill-gotten _maestra _of metal, protecting your _dragon de hielo…_you've sated my entertainment for long enough. I shall kill you now, so watch closely, would you kindly? There are dangers even greater than I, and that boy will bleed to death very soon. But I will kill you in flair also."

"_Combinan, Sellos Primero y Sexto y Septimo: Shark-Fanged Eel Sabers."_

Toshiro had to blink several times, grudgingly getting the caking blood out of his eyes to see. No longer was the dandy holding a pair of normal, material blades akin to a tizona, but a pair of long swords composed of pure blue energy, much like the _Electric Sky Fence_. On the phantoms of energy, Toshiro vaguely could spot a disdain of little teeth, grazing the illusory ends of the blades. With a flair he twirled them around, and pointed them at his defender, Karin.

"Little _Nina_, you cannot harm these sabers. You have a blade of metal and spiritual energy. I have blades of electric charges, like the nimble eel. Your curtain has fallen, and Destiny has come to claim you. _Buenos Noches, ninos_. Be grateful of the future I spare you._"_

The blades raised themselves up, taking a life of their own, as they twirled and writhe in his abyssal grip. Karin stepped in front of Hitsugaya, her cute face now steeled into determination, and she reared the war hammer back for a swing to intercept. Toshiro himself stood up, his body protesting vehemently the act, as he struggled to protect Karin as Karin was protecting him.

_I don't want her to die._

Amazingly, he heard a massive clock sound off, indicating it was 4:15.

Bloodswerth's albino form took indeed a most devilish form, his eyes and face and nose traversing upon each other to twist into a vindictive face. The blade of energy inched closer, and as that clock bellowed its interval, time slowed down.

Toshiro acted on impulse, and grabbed Karin at the last moment, drawing her face into his ruined clothes, while bringing her down to the ground. His move was just in time, and simultaneously greeted with a cry of surprise. A saber slashed where her neck would've been, and cut just the tip of Hitsugaya's head. He buried her face into bosom, and waited for the deathblow, his back to the self-absorbed dandy.

Amazed for a third time, that prophesized deathblow never came. He heard a brief grunt, and the sound of metal piercing flesh, but that was it. Curious, Toshiro chanced a slow look behind him.

The dandy held his electric-blue energy blades in the air, trying vainly to move them, or gather strength to move them. Blood was beginning to dribble out of his mouth, and he was struggling to stand. Vitality seemed to be slipping from him, and looking behind him, Toshiro could see why. 5th Seath Yumichika Ayasegawa and Rangiku Matsumoto stood behind him, both their _zan-pakutos _thrusting into his vital organs, evoking a strong sense of déjà vu in the boy genius.

The dandy turned his head, his eyes completely livid and his lips pursed in palpable fury: It was the fury of the dying, who only a moment before had life by the throat. His mouth opened, revealing bloodstained teeth, and he found ironic words to mutter as his soul reaper assailants.

"You cheated."

And then his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his body becoming vacant instantly.

Toshiro could only breath a sigh of relief, before his mind finally shut down. As darkness consumed him in that lonely, shabby lot, he recalled his arms gripping Karin's body still…a unnoticed desire shining even through his unconsciousness.

_Conviction? _

Briefly, he felt the tomboy wiggle in his embrace, but it was a fleeting feeling. He knew no more, as his weary, lacerated body slumped in relief and exhaustion, the bane of his agony, finally slain before him. The body demanded payment after oh so long. But at least it was over. The Devil was done.

_Destined to die, you and I._

--

End Chapter.

Translations:

_Esclava-_slave

_Impotente-_powerless

_Tarjetas_-Cards

_Mesa-table_

_Escudo_-shield

_Pies rapidez_-speedy feet

_Revelacion_- revelation

_Zona_-area

_Criatura-_creature

The rest should be obvious.


	12. Chapter 12: Divergence

That took more effort than expected, but it seems I'm falling from my basics. So therefore, now that I've gotten the action aside, maybe I can try to fit something more noteworthy…

As a side note, Ortiz was based off of UFC fighter Tito Ortiz, though his character is very much different from the "Huntington Beach Bad Boy".

Disclaimer: I do not own BLEACH! I do, however, own The members of Canopus.

-To Mr./Mrs. snow fang: I appreciate your honesty, regardless of how blunt it is. Therefore, I ask for a chance to defend myself, no matter how useless excuses are. However, if my choice of vocabulary affronts you, making it appear condescending…I do not know whether to apologize for that, as I myself cannot see it that way. I explain things, perhaps a bit too much, so people won't chastise me for leaving them in the dark, metaphors and similes being colorful tools of mine: It simply is not enough to say an act, but a requirement of mine to describe it as close to perfection as I can. Also, since you have pointed out my BLEACH oriented mistakes, I will explain that the main reason for that…is simply until April of this year, I had little interest in the universe of Bleach. I did not acknowledge it as a worthy anime/manga at first, because there is a deluge of mangas that cannot sate my interest: That, obviously, has changed. Byakuya's name-typo was perhaps a result of my remembrance of Neji Hyuuga's "Byakkugan", and the _zanpaku-to _typo was brought to me only recently. I will resolve my mistakes, all the same. If you find it worthy of your attention, as you apparently have some experience in writing (as to what, I am not sure), I would appreciate your continued critiques. Its been a long time since I've had an honest report.

-And yes, I am not a Spaniard. So bear with me. Again, I am thankful of all reviews given to me. If you like my story so far, I am pleased. If not…let me know.

-Oh, and as a fore-warning: There _will _be character death soon.

Now, allow the story to continue again…

_**Chapter 12: Divergence**_

_**August 14**__**th**__**, Early morning…**_

Victory is not sculpted from the debris of the destroyed and the crippled. Only the most decadent would frame themselves as such gilded artists. Though it would forever remain a mystery to those that lacked psychic talent and the ability to perceive the supernatural, it did not help either the ignorant or the observant. The damage was foreseeable even to the richly blind, and what occurred-The Horror at Mashiba-would live as a time of infamy.

Mashiba, or at least the centerpiece of it, had been strewn in ruins, on the dawning eyes of August 13th. How it happened no one knew. No one could find a suitable scapegoat or candidate to accept the responsibility of such an assault. Simultaneously, no one could place a random disaster to explain the devastation. Even more horrific, to the people of Mashiba and Karakura in general…no one actually saw what caused the damage, and so thus were imprisoned in their wonderment.

On August 12th, as it had been a relatively busy workday, hundreds of testimonies swore that the central area of Karakura was left in its droll normalcy. Every building and every car, every utility owned by the government, had been left in its pristine form, unmarred by ersatz digits or mischievous psyches. Slender skyscrapers and stout warehouses, stores, and other dwarfish estates were left in immaculate states of maintenance, with each brick in its proper hole and each hinge screwed into its proper door holding. Windows held a glistening plane, barring physical entry perfectly while permitting the eyes to either focus on the yellow sun's rays or the desk workers inside. Parking meters and companions of the much-traveled sidewalk were rooted in their preordained spots stoically, caring none of rebellion, and only desiring to fulfill their purpose with stone-hard facets. Cars ventured in their intermittent schedules, stopping at destined locals and galloping off with suddenness of race horses. These vehicles of smaller manufacturing cared none of the guilty or garrulous definition of each pit stop they made, be it the laggard pub, the desperate law officer, the indifferent bank, or the hospitable work office. For all, the machine and the man driving it, the day was routine. Nothing, to the balanced citizens of Mashiba, that peddled and toiled and merely passed through…nothing appeared out of order, or out of the ordinary, and therefore no one could find a sticking image that penetrated their heads. Everything about the afternoon before was as clockwork as the day before that, and the day before that.

Thus, this is why the next dawn so easily and deeply struck those that frequented Mashiba. For once, the newspaper was as dumbfounded as the people it serviced, as its libel-plagued tongue flopped uselessly in the aftermath. To the news that night, which finally broadcasted it in the evening, it was described as "a curtain had been raised and we saw the damage done by surly saboteurs". The damage had been too random to be the work of a normal human's planning, but at the same time its was too rooted in determinism to befit a sleepy catastrophe. Thus, the law enforcement were put on to assess the damage, and thus compose what they-those not blessed or cursed with the gift of psychic sight-could understand.

As Isshin Kurosaki (a parent among many, his concern for his children trumping any sort of morbid curiosity that lingered inside) listened to his radio, the flabbergasted radio hosts were able to put an editorial of what the police chiefs had managed to sort out as fact, and sort our as speculation. Apparently, something had happened with the passing night of August 12th, and it did not just affect the central part of Mashiba. Much more had been touched, as if by some panoramic spell. Cars, which had run fine the previous day, were found in the morning in utter disrepair and destruction. One cop stated how a particular motor "had imprints in it, as if a fist had dived past the hood and tried to freakin' dig into the engine". Another car was found one morning in its suburban garage, not freshly washed as it had been the prior night, but with its cab raggedly broken in half. Yet a third car had been totaled entirely in its front, as if something had crushed its parts up to the cab, and stopped there. This lead to the assumptions of gang attacks, but all the attacks occurred in the span of one night, and those targeted apparently did not have any binding connections, save that at around 3:00 to 4:10, on August 12th, they had been in Mashiba, near the First Bank. Also, there was damage laced throughout the sidewalks, that which was be appropriate of rioters' destruction, _had a riot taken place_. Mailboxes were unhinged. Flawless brick walls and foundations now had arm-sized holes that reached about two feet deep and a sixth of an inch in circumference. Parking meters had been removed, bent like common pretzels. Signs had been bent and sometimes torn to pieces. And yet…the most horrific and mind-boggling of all…there were patterned holes in the concrete, breaking the asphalt texture without difficultly, but it was not erratic in its production. Now, as a young deputy demonstrated…it was like a person _walked as he broke the sidewalk covering_.

Confusion reigned supreme, and among fathers and mothers alike the damage surveyed was a ripe source of panic. The cops were equally mystified, but under the pledges of their captain, they agreed to root out the transgressors, and swiftly hammer justice into their capricious, callous backs. This was a satisfactory, albeit political tact, but it helped settle down the people, and as in the wake of any catastrophe, the road to reconstruction commence with the dawn of the 14th. People talked about the damage in their offices, on their phones, in their mercantile exchanges, and by their thrice-blasted watering 'holes'. But…their faults were their eyes, which could never open wide enough unless a particular battery assisted them. Hence, without the ability to open their eyes wide enough, the truth to the insurmountable damage…was left just above their floppy eyelids.

Only the spiritually aware know the truth. And to that end, Soul Society's Gotei 13 finally started to take a serious look into the whole affair. Originally, Captain-General Genryu Yamamoto did delegate the task to the capable Toshiro Hitsugaya and his lieutenant Rangiku Matsumoto, believing the low probability of humans opposing Soul Reapers, while a fitting fictional story, was unlikely in the context of reality.

The damage sustained by Toshiro Hitsugaya made even the ultra-conservative Yamamoto rethink the prospects. If it had been hollows, things which all Soul Reapers are trained to handle and dispose of, Yamamoto and the remaining Gotei 13 would not have noticed any problems. However, the damage strewn in Mashiba, combined with the unusual ailments of Hitsugaya, and the injuries placed upon Soul Reapers Ikkaku Madarame, Rukia Kuchiki, and undiscovered prospect Ichigo Kurosaki, forced his ancient eyes to accept a new dilemma. That, yes, there were some humans, like those that fought with Hitsugaya's troops, that knew of the existence of Soul Reapers. Unlike them, these humans were malign, and seemed to have no connection to anyone, but themselves. The proof only needed to be bared by the tape recorder acquired by Hitsugaya weeks ago, when it was revealed in the monologue that the group called "Canopus" captured and experimented on hollows, instead of purifying them or even blessedly destroying them. If they had no love for hollows, and simultaneously cared none for Soul Reapers, as given by the stripping of Toshiro Hitsugaya's powers…then exactly what sort of depraved discoverers and nihilists were the Gotei 13 dealing with?

Orders were given, and swiftly, for while it was difficult to rile the Captain-General to rage, it was quite a volcano once his ire was stroked. Soul Reapers Hanataro Yamada and Ikkaku Madarame were designated to return to the Seireitei, to give both a report of the fight, a description of the identified adversaries and their tactics, heal Madarame under better circumstances, and bring the corpse of Janus Bloodswerth to 12th Divison Captain Mayuri Kurotschuri for study. His tone, as depicted over the Kurosaki monitor, was not a pleasant, jolly timbre of an old grandfather. Yumichika Ayasegawa was also recalled for the time, and was to be better supplier of information than Ikkaku (due to injury) and Hanataro (due to his meek demeanor). The 5th seat was recalled more at the behest of a rather eager Captain Kenpachi Zaraki, who was practically foaming at the mouth for a chance to fight someone new.

For Matsumoto, her task was to remain behind, as a sentry to her thrice-wounded captain. Having still ten more weeks, hypothesized, until he regained his powers, it was imperative that someone should guard the 10th division captain. Ichigo was left in need of a hospital, much to the chagrin of his family and friends; the strawberry-haired boy had suffered a concussion to the head, internal bleeding, and bruised ribs. So too was Chad Yasutora, who endured the equivalent of an oceanic depth charge at his abdomen. Rukia, had it not been for Orihime's healing powers, would have been totting a neck brace under her chin. And Toshiro himself had endured countless lacerations to the point that his gigai was almost unsalvageable. Having been propped in charge, Matsumoto watched her comrades-at-arms try to heal as best as they could.

Amazingly, for someone who had been close to the fight, Karin Kurosaki had not a sliver of damage on her. Though her cheeks had been bright red from been slapped, it was miniscule in comparison to the damage incurred on her allies. Thus, she for the time was kept outside of the loop. Though her life had been put in danger twice now, she was not brought to the immediate attention of the majority of the captains.

What Matsumoto ensured was reported, however, was her achieving of a _zanpaku-to_. This was but another thing that Yamamoto had never experienced before. When it was revealed that she gained this ability not through the acquisition of death and then the process of becoming a spirit, but rather it magically appearing when the Seven-Sealed Devil touched her…again Yamamoto's brow furrowed in pensive thought. It was obvious they were dealing with peculiar, unique adversaries. The fact that the ultimate goal of Canopus had yet to be revealed was worrisome, but everyone concerned took heart in a reality.

Indeed, one must wonder if Canopus itself expected its hitman to sell them out, all for his gluttonous hedonism. He procured, according to the darker-haired Kurosaki, a tape recording supposed summarizing their nefarious plans, and willingly agreed to trade it, if they could defeat him and entertain him. As it was Matsumoto and Ayasegawa's timely arrival that ended the mat hatter's encroachments, the tape was retrieved, pocketed by Ayasegawa while the corpse was taken by comers.

So, to each, their places were set, trenched in as if they had been a part of the Somme itself. Before them was a hazy dead man's land, which none of those left to fend the post-Ishida, Matsumoto, and Inoue- dared to advance upon. The machine-behemoth Ortiz, who had waded effortlessly through Kurosaki, Chad, Madarame, and Rukia without so much as a scratch, intimidated those that remained. The dangerous Bloodswerth had been thankfully cut down, but Takumi Warunabe had mentioned a brother of his. How many more soldiers Canopus had under its reign, under the scrupulous Dr. Kiiromori was unknown, as anonymous as the goals of the shifty organization. Was Ortiz the strongest of their unit, or was there someone else, much stronger and more powerful than even that giant?

Everything laid in obscure clouds, hovering over the front. It was quiet for now, but Matsumoto, the interim leader, wondered if that was truly a good thing.

For Soul Society had made itself an enemy…and whether or not they were prepared to deal with it…was unknown at best.

Fortunately, war and warmongering was left to the warriors, and innocent activities were left to those that could handle the prospects of daily life. While Ichigo was taken to a hospital and not the Kurosaki clinic, Isshin did have his reasons. Why Ichigo did need support from his family, it would not do for either of his daughters to become neurotic messes over their brother. It was difficult for Isshin to do this, but he needed answers himself, and made a plan to visit his old friend at the candy store.

It had turned out, due to the shocking devastation done to Mashiba overnight and due to a deluge of calls from concerned parents (Isshin among them), that school had been canceled until further explanations were erected. This left Yuzu and Karin alone, with a beaten-up Hitsugaya at the clinic, fretting over him. But at least he was semi-conscious. Ichigo had not awoken since he was taken to the hospital, and the doctors wondered if he sustained more than a mere concussion.

Isshin pursed his lips as he brought the car to the Urahara Shoten shop. The flamboyant cover that he usually had was evaporated, and a wounded father took his place. Information was in coming…whether his friend would like it or not.

--

_**August 14**__**th**__**, Early Evening…**_

Ironic, how their positions had been reversed.

It had only been a week ago that it had been Karin Kurosaki, straddled in her bed with an ailment she accidentally caused. Her friend and houseguest, Toshiro Hitsugaya, had been her sentry, her guardian, and the silent watcher by her bed at that time. Now, it was a conscious but fuming white-haired captain that laid in bed, while Karin sat aside, super-focused on her hands as she pondered.

Thinking never was her specialty. Athletics tends to be her habitat, but even lacking the physical testing of her body, she was firmly aware of the storm inside her head.

"……Kurosaki." Toshiro muttered.

Karin did not at first answer, unsure if he was truly awake.

"Kurosaki. If you don't answer I will fling this pillow at your face."

Karin stifled a giggle. She did not want to laugh, and found Toshiro's candor to be enlightening.

"Are you shaken? Kurosaki?"

"My _name_ is Karin, Shiro-chan."

"Well, _Karin_, speak your mind."

Karin at first did not say anything. Perhaps for an eleven-year old, who had little experience in these do-or-die situations, did not have the vocabulary for forming her emotions. As such, she floundered, her honesty a bubbling fish in the land-based air. Toshiro, who had his face towards the window, forsaken in the warm comfort of the raven-haired twin's bed, finally lost his patience, and grabbed his pillow, chucking at her. The soft projectile forced her out of her limited reverie and brought upon the 10th division captain her indignation.

"What was that for?!"

"…I told you I was going to throw this pillow at you if you did not talk. So I did." Toshiro said, returning to his brief vigil to the outside. The sun had faded prematurely today, blanketed by an army of clouds only about an hour ago. The behemoth mass that was these rain clouds had in short order swallowed the sky, and littered down upon the earth teething rain…as if to clean and purify the damage wrought.

"I'm not your soldier-girl. If anything, you're my houseguest! Its bad manners to chuck objects at your host!"

"And you would not prefer honesty?" Toshiro asked, his voice a strain between bemusement and amusement.

Karin faltered slightly at his glib retort, and her button-like face contorted into further frustration. Her emotions were now running on high, and she was having immense difficulty repressing them. Though his back was turned to her, Toshiro picked up on this aggravation, and spoke.

"If I promise you my word, to answer each and every question truthfully, will you talk to me?"

"…Why?"

"Because you mean a-something to me. I have a friend in Soul Society that reminds me of you."

Karin's eyes piqued at the slip of his tongue, but she dismissed it for the time being. She was just as interested, if not more, at the latter part of his statement. A mischievous smile formed on her face, and she was grateful that Toshiro's back was to her.

"Every question? The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"Yes." Toshiro scuffed out.

"Ok…" Karin started, and left herself to ponder with this new elevation. She still didn't know how to express herself, and decided to evade…at first.

"Who's your friend?"

"Hmm?"

"Your friend that reminds you of me?"

Toshiro finally cast a glance at Karin, and for the first time since the battle Karin fully appraised the wounds inflicted on him. In a way, she could understand, his being a mar on his psyche more so than on his body. Anytime she was scratched up or bruised, naturally she healed given time, but the scars on her pride were far greater than any on her person. Perhaps this was the case with "Shiro-chan", who, elevated to an exemplar position as he was, felt the mental scars deepen farther into his core than she could. His face bore the white bandages and the minor scrapes that survived that told of his battle and survived the healing process of Hanataro. The damage had been far worse, and Hanataro had stated that, even though Toshiro was healed from fatality, he still should not be so active. Thus, it had been easy to explain to her daddy that Toshiro was attacked by gang members, allowing him to be padded up at his mid-section by a frantic 'father-in-law', and incarcerating the youngest captain to Karin's bed. (Karin, for the time, slept with Yuzu), just before dealing with his son.

The divergence from his regular, goofy face to something so serious…had partially spooked Karin.

Toshiro's lips formed a thin line, as he sat himself up to better answer the question. His eyes seemed more distracted, and Karin began to wonder if he deliberately flubbed his lines.

"Didn't I tell you? Her name's Momo Hinamori. She and I pretty much were raised in the same household, as like you and your siblings. However, she's a lot older than me, and she's…busy, most of the time."

"What's she like?"

"A little too altruistic. Full of life. Friendly. She can't be embarrassed-that often-, and she puts her heart into everything at Soul Society. She just is…preoccupied, most of the time."

"…And that's reminds you of me…how?"

"Doesn't it?" Toshiro responded, his face indifferent in his words. "You've done things that have nearly gotten you killed twice now. I'd call that altruistic if nothing else. What reminded me of her from you was your hair anyway."

Karin squinted, in suspicion perhaps, more than anything else, for she really was not used to receiving compliments about her…figure. An absent hand reached to her head, and frayed a stray lock aside.

"So…you like…my hair." It was rhetorical in its entirety. Hitsugaya missed that.

"Yes. I guess I do."

Karin was glad that Toshiro turned to face the rain, his honesty-rule all apparent still. She was certain her cheeks were pink from the uncalled-for comment.

"There's a lot I like about you." Toshiro ventured on, unaware of Karin's deepening blush. "For one, you're unpredictable. I'm surprised you still have that plush."

"Hmm?"

"That dragon doll I won you at the carnival." Toshiro clarified, and pointed to the foot of her bed. Though it was Yuzu who possessed most of the dolls, Karin's recent acquisition, the _Blue-Eyes White Dragon _plush Toshiro had won at the carnival over a week ago, was perched at her bed, looking back at its occupant with a static, feral maw and cold eyes. Karin had been somewhat flustered when Yuzu had asked about it, shortly after getting it. (How it survived the ordeal with the Seven-Sealed Devil was anyone's guess). Even greater had been her surprise when Yuzu insisted on having the barbarous dragon plushy join her friendly, cuter looking dolls, to which Karin promptly refused. Even thus, Karin had refused to say exactly who got her the dragon, for by then her face mimicked an apple.

"Why do you still have it?" Toshiro asked. His face now melted into one of genuine curiosity, and he patiently awaited her answer.

"Uh…well…"

Toshiro gave a rather amused look, and he stated another rhetorical point. "You're blushing."

"Am not!"

Toshiro only continued his satisfied smile. "Is there anything else?"

Karin struggled for a question, any question, to divert her embarrassment, and found a very simple question. "Why are you a soul reaper?"

"…Why?" Toshiro tried to clarify.

"Y-yeah. Its not like you were drafted or something, right?"

"…no. It's a choice made by spirits to become soul reapers in the first place. Everyone has their own reason. For me…well…I guess Matsumoto was the one who opened the door."

"Matsumoto? _Your lieutenant?"_

"Yeah. She noticed how high my spiritual pressure was, said I would kill my Granny if I didn't get it resolved, and therefore I went into the Academy-"

"You had a Granny? And you went to an _Academy?_"

Toshiro looked puzzled at her emphasis, unaware of the terrors of school life in the preteens' existence, and the realization that the darker-haired twin, when she died, would have to _repeat _an academic semester. "Yeah. People don't spontaneously become Soul Reapers, after all. Well, normally. I graduated the same year as Momo, and eventually, I ended up as I am now."

"You don't like talking that much."

"Do you?" Toshiro countered. 'I don't exactly enjoy talking about myself."

That got Karin's interest, but she did not press the point. She dusted her hands off her shirt, and pressed another nagging point, one that she did not want to bring up, for the sake of her own dignity, but one that was demanding release.

"Toshiro…are you lonely?"

The white-haired captain raised his silver-locked eye brows at her innocent question, showing clearly how dumbfounded he was. In turn, Karin hastily tried to clarify her statement.

"I mean, you look like a kid, but-"

"I have Momo," was his simple response.

Karin frowned at both the simplicity and his lack of perception. "No, no! I mean…remember what I said, how people would be sad if you got yourself hurt?"

Toshiro nodded, lacking words to express himself.

"Did you want to be a Soul Reaper, at first?"

"…..it was a matter of necessity, Karin. Either I became a soul reaper and take my power by the reigns, or I would've killed my granny. In a way, you're the same way."

"I am not."

"Then how do you explain that _zanpaku-to_ you got?" At this Hitsugaya motioned over to the sleeping, sheathed saber in the corner, which only Toshiro and Karin knew it for what it was. Again, Yuzu had made notice of the new addition to the room, and questioned her more athletic sister about it. To this end, she used Toshiro as a means. According to Karin, Toshiro apparently had an interest in swords (whether this was truth or falsity Karin hadn't bothered to ask), and had acquired one from the Urahara Shoten. Yuzu found this acceptable, but asked that she make sure Toshiro clean it, and keep it holstered.

"You are human, and yet you have a _zanpaku-to_, something only a Soul Reaper should maintain. To be a soul reaper means you're already dead. You've already demonstrated some potential, and-"

"Shiro-chan. What the crap are you talking about?"

"……blast it…denser than stone, this whole family is." Toshiro muttered, shuffling in his bed. "Even though Bloodswerth is dead, Canopus and Soul Society know about you. You have and your brother have a frighteningly high spiritual pressure, and its affecting everyone around you both. I don't know if you got your gift from Ichigo, or vice versa, but the fact is that tuxedoed nutjob forced a _zanpaku-to_ out of you the same way he forced me past my limits. When this is all over…you may end up dealing with things as I have. I almost killed Granny with my potential. You could very well kill Yuzu or your father with it."

"I'm still not picking up what you're saying."

Toshiro's face degenerated into a cute picture of irritation. "All of Ichigo's friends have become infected with his spiritual pressure. If they don't have the ability to see ghosts, eventually, they will. The same could be said for you, with your friends, and Yuzu. Thus…I have to wonder if you'll attract the Gotei 13's attention."

"Oh? And _you're _gonna say something?"

"No. You've been through enough."

"Yeah, says you." Karin muttered, before remembering something. "When you had that Howdy-maru-"

"_Hyourimaru._" Toshiro said through clenched teeth.

"Alright, alright! Sheesh." Karin backed off. "Did your thing ever talk to you?"

"All the time." Toshiro responded. The noble manners of the ice dragon, though faded from ordinary activity, had not been forgotten.

"Good. I was wondering if I was going out of my head." Karin stated, a reassuring hand caressing her brow. "During the fight, I was hearing this voice shouting at me. Sounded pretty mean, and didn't like me."

At this Toshiro looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well…that guy or something kept rambling on that I wasn't its boss or what not. I tried repeating those words the top-hat nutcase said, but I can't get it to be that huge hammer it was before."

"…that was probably your _zanpaku-to _spirit. Though…wait a minute…Bloodswerth said something about that, didn't he?"

Karin remembered herself, and fell silent, her eyes turning to her sister's side of the room, with all its pretty pastels and its armada of dolls. She knew exactly what had started this, and she was sure, from the way Toshiro's face worked visually, that he was putting the pieces together…

"Karin. Where was that syringe you showed me?" His voice was a shade of icy brilliance, and there was the authority expected of a captain laden inside of it. Karin, unsure exactly how to respond, faltered briefly. Her hesitation sealed it, and Toshiro manually turned her to face him, eyes of teal meeting orbs of midnight shadow.

"It was _you_. You put that syringe in you. That's why you got sick, last week…That liquid was a _zanpaku-to _spirit! And you-" Toshiro seemed to lose his cool, if not for a moment, and he turned away from her. After composing himself, with his back presented to her, Toshiro asked stolidly. "Why did you do it?"

Karin had an immediate answer. "My Gawd, Shiro-Chan ("Hitsugaya." He retorted)! Did you ever look at yourself? You were getting beaten down in the dumps so bad…I couldn't stand to see you like that. You were getting picked on like a little kid, and these guys were a buncha bullies, and you couldn't do anything about it! So, I tried to do something!"

"…Karin. Do you want to die?"

"…Huh?"

"Do you want to die?" Toshiro responded. His eyes became very soft, as if he was burdened with some irremovable sin. His face, for the first time, showed a possible age estimate, and he appeared very worried or saddened.

"Of course not!" Karin responded.

"You unwittingly got yourself into this…your brother would hang me if he was _conscious_. And that's what you're opposing, Karin. What's opposing us _all. _These guys mangled your brother, robbed me of my powers, and put a 3rd seat officer through a meat grinder. And these were only two guys. There may be a whole group of humans that we know next to nothing about, and seems to know how to cripple us. Do you think you have the stomach to deal with that? That you will find yourself fighting for your life? This isn't a child's game, Karin." Toshiro stated, his voice becoming more intense with each word muttered. Karin found security in her confidence.

"I don't care about that! You think I'm your damsel to be rescued, Shiro-Chan? Look and what's happened to you! You took the brunt of the attack and ended up gutted like a fish-"

"I _care _too much for you to be hurt by them!" Toshiro interjected, his emotions trumping his common sense and his tongue. Perhaps he realized his mistake, for he turned back to the window and the symphonic rain, his face now flushing and his anger now evaporating. Karin herself lost control over her tongue, not sure in the least how to remark. Instead, both young minds surrendered to feeble quiescence, interrupted only by the noisy commotion of Yuzu cooking another culinary masterpiece downstairs, and the steady-dropping rain outside.

After a few minutes, Toshiro composed himself, and turned back to his dark-haired friend. "Karin. You are a great friend to me. This is not fear of your brother that makes me want to keep you safe. I've been beaten before. I can take pain, even in this gigai. But I don't want anything to happen to you." Toshiro gazed at her, and Karin could see the honesty in his voice. "Putting that syringe in you was stupid, but we can't do anything about it now. I'd rather not bother Unohana about this. Instead, we'll make do with it as best as we can."

"…y-yeah. Yeah!" Karin bellowed, getting her voice back. "I'll use this! I don't want to sit back and watch, Shiro-Chan. I want to help too."

Toshiro looked at her, scrutinizing her for a flaw, but huffing perhaps in disappointment as he couldn't find one. "Fine. If you're that eager, I'll see that you at least learn the basics. You can't fight as sloppily as you did before."

"What do you mean? I nailed him a lot!"

"That's because he let you, Kurosaki."

"My name's Karin."

"And mine's Hitsugaya."

The youths found silence again, but it was not as intense. Instead, it was somewhat of a relief to them both, and Karin leaned back in her seat on the foot of her bed. Vaguely she looked for something to tend to, before the youngest captain again interrupted the solace.

"Karin. Can I, ask a favor?"

"Sure." Karin said, a smile returning to her face. "What's up?"

"You still have more questions, I'm sure." Toshiro said. "These I'm willing to answer. However…I kind of…liked it…when I held your…hand." Karin could feel her smile widen as he struggled to say this while keeping an image of stoicism. "Can I…hold your hand…why we talk?"

It was almost like Toshiro had reverted to a kid again, unsure of the future answer and hesitant to ask in the first place. But Karin could only smirk. After all, what were friends for?

"Sure, Shiro-Chan."

He hesitantly took her lithe hand, treating it at first like a bear trap. But Karin did not withdraw, and they became bound by their fingers. It was nothing of the coldness she expected of him, but it held a regal wreath of humane cordiality that made her feel…safe. She could remember how her brother, her father, and vaguely her mother, how each of them held her. But this was different. It was strong, and yet gentle, a simple embrace. A cozy inn inside a freezing snowstorm. Toshiro gave an almost invisible smile, as his fingers wrapped around them. She returned it with a much larger, more obvious grin.

It would be some time before Yuzu came up to usher her sister and 'brother-in-law' in for dinner for the three. Daddy would not be back until the night ended, and everyone else was in bed. However, both noticed how warm their hands were, even as they parted from the bond.

It was a binding neither wanted undone.

--

_**August 14**__**th**__**, Soul Society, late night**_**…**

_"…ahem. Very well. Meeting adjourned."_

The static, reigning with an intermingling aftershave of argumentative voices, finally went blank after a quarter of an hour of introductions and back-biting. To say they had been the most cohesive of units was not of veracity when applied. The sound of rushing bodies, signally the departure of all present, sounded briefly, before it came to this point. The static resumed for a moment, but at last it cut off.

The Soul Reaper Captains were brought back to reality. They were not all in number, numbering only ten of the thirteen: Toshiro Hitsugaya's case was obvious, Gin Ichimaru was absent on a Menos Grande attack in Rukongai, to which his assistant Kira followed, and Byakuya Kuchiki also was mysteriously vacant, in his stead being Renji Abarai. The meeting was quickly shut behind closed doors, permitting none save the present captains and lieutenant captains from entrance. For the matter had become quite dire in its own device.

Much could be gleaned from both pieces of information they obtained: The corpse of Janus Bloodswerth, and the tape recorder he used as bait. However, while much could be obtained, at the same time the minds of the captains struggled to solve the riddles obtained from the words of the Canopus members. Janus had apparently pulled a fast one. Nothing, as expected of a nihilistic cabal, was every so cleanly stated. Much was left to speculation, and in times of armed defense, speculation was dangerous. Get the answer right, and there are no worries. Get the answer wrong, and one may be walking straight into the jaguar's jaw.

As Izuru Kira learned, when he was briefed of the matter upon his return, it was a bittersweet combination of truths and enigmas. Lacking sufficient spine to take responsibilities of a leader without first crumbling into despair, Kira found that many of his fellows visited anger at the potential ploy, the heartiest voice among them being Kenpachi Zaraki. It would be his friend Momo Hinamori that explained everything to him, and told both the good news and the bad.

The good news was what they could collect. They learned who some of the major players in the organization was, as well as who was classified as the strongest. In total, there were five, six if one included the figurehead leader: Janus Bloodswerth, the Seven-Sealed Devil; Ortiz, the mechanical behemoth; Takumi Warunabe, mentioned in the recording as a telepath; His brother, whose name was not mentioned and did not speak at all during the dialogue; Hajime Roku, the business-as-usual leader of a sect called the Shishi Roku; and the one giving their orders and paying their sums, Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori. What was also gleamed was that, of these warriors, Warunabe's older brother and Ortiz were the strongest, cited as rivaling captains. The fact that numbers was not their strong point emboldened the captains, particularly Yamamoto. Ukitake, however, confessed caution, as their powers were not normal, but on a wide spectrum. Though they could gather that Kiiromori and Takumi were not combatants, both had other skills that made them dangerous. Takumi's supposed ability as a telepath meant that he could gain information without a shred of effort, while Kiiromori, as indicated by his confessed interests in hollows and _zanpaku-to _spirits, held a scientific marvel about him.

Worse of all, it was revealed that Kiiromori was the _figurehead_ and not the actual leader. In the recording, Kiiromori stated firmly that he was the vanguard to his leader, who supposedly 'had a rare disease which prevented him from leaving his room'. Due to this, Kiiromori acted in his stead, but he took great pains not to reveal the name of his employer. The fact he referred to the five as 'dregs' did not sit well with obvious trust.

The interim missions of each group was set into motion, and outlined in the message. Janus was immediately set to attack Toshiro Hitsugaya, but the date was incorrect. Kiiromori told Bloodswerth to attack on August 4th, the _second time Bloodswerth attacked Hitsugaya_. All the captains knew by then that Toshiro had been assaulted on the 30th of July: Why else would Matsumoto and company come to help, after receiving Renji's report? This boggled the captains, but they deduced that it was merely Janus's overeager nature. He attacked before his time, because he was excited.

The other four had more scrupulous missions lined out: Takumi, with his mind-reading skills, was sent off to gather information. Ortiz was told to wait, for now. The brother of Warunabe was told, for that time to part-take in some experiment. And Hajime Roku was given the task of rounding up and capturing hollows in Hueco Mundo. Also brought up was the matter of a sixth man, not present but apparently enlisted with a rather secret mission: A genderless person called Naikao, who Kiiromori would not speak any of. Apparently, he was sent to Soul Society, but why was unknown, as well as his appearance.

The last bit kept the captains on their toes, as they listened for more. Again, it was a tarry of riddles formulated word-of-mouth by the unnamed employer. The long-term goals of the organization were not in the least outlined, though there were several cryptic messages which left themselves open for broad interpretation. In many cases, to which Zaraki and Kyoraku verbally assessed what everyone else was thinking, one had to wonder: "Is that guy crazy or something?"

The boss's mental stability aside, Yamamoto and the other preceding captains of the Gotei 13 gathered what they could, each with some stigma that made little sense unless the underlying meaning was understood:

1. Above all else, the group verbally stated a centerpiece of its mission (the only part that was clear). This was the death or the crippling of Toshiro Hitsugaya, and exactly why was unknown. Kiiromori stated on the tape that his employer "feared the dragon of ice, and so wished to hurriedly break its back". To that, everyone was able to figure out. After all, Captain Hitsugaya just happened to be in the living world when Bloodswerth disobeyed his orders. Based on the date of the recording-June 25th-Canopus had been seeking the 10th company captain's destruction long before then. However, the nagging 'why'-why Hitsugaya had been marked as the number one target and not another captain-prickled the keener minds of the Gotei 13. The fact that they attacked three times with the same assassin, and left his allies in disarray, did not temper their emotions well.

2. Though the destruction of Hitsugaya was the number one short-term goal, apparently, Canopus had a scientific interest both in _zanpaku-tos _and hollows. The fact that Hajime Roku and his sect were deliberately ordered to collect more hollows did not go unnoticed, and to this end most of the captains found a silver lining, voiced by Sosuke Aizen. The fact that they target hollows and Soul Reapers indiscriminately meant that Canopus could not form an alliance with one, to slaughter the other. That meant Canopus was its own force, with its own agenda.

3. Kiiromori stated briefly several cryptic messages relayed by his employer, the meaning of which was lost in literal translation. Interestingly, both messages were relayed to the Warunabe brothers, and namely the elder. The doctor stated how he "must cut the legs of the Queen Bee" and "Slaughter the spellbinder among the Reapers". Apparently, the Elder Warunabe had some skill that was supposed to aid his task, whatever that was.

4. Lastly, what could be gleaned was that while several soul reapers had been killed, reaped ironically for their swords, Kiiromori made specific note of the 2nd division. Apparently, towards Captain Soi Fon's company, he held a respect that would indicated being taken seriously. To the other divisions, he said nothing about, but when Ortiz asked when he could fight, the doctor did not give an immediate answer. Instead, he substituted that when he could fight, he could fight to "his black heart's content."

The tape was rewound several times, so the entire dialogue could be documented, helpfully by Aizen and Hinamori. Thus, Kira, arriving late after assisting his captain, was able to learn the details. Intensity, the calm before the flayed storm, was obvious to everyone around. As a lieutenant, and emboldened and simultaneously horrified by the damage done to Ikkaku, Kira took it upon himself to patrol the Seireitei, in case the elusive, anonymous Naikao could be spotted. (Actually, this is Kira's way of thinking, as a means of boosting his self-esteem: Yamamoto ordered the lieutenants to patrol the Seireitei, leaving the captains to plan and the 3rd Seats to the duties of the lieutenants).

Kira was now completing his second round among the vast Seireitei. As it stood, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, with everyone going about their business as he went his own. Currently, as he passed the 6th division office, he briefly wondered if Renji was there, having perhaps finished early and relieved by another assistant-captain. The lights were on, as indicated by yellowing lights beyond the panes of glass, but as he listened in aimlessly, he recognized the voice not as Renji's, but as Byakuya's. There were very few places that noble tone could not pierce and be recognized as what it was…but Kira wondered for what purpose Captain Kuchiki would be out here. Even if it was his division, what sort of task could keep him here, when he could attain better privacy at his manor?

The blond Soul Reaper decided it would be best not to disturb him. Even from beyond the closed threshold, Kira could tell Kuchiki was exceptionally busy. While the ivory door barred his sight, his ears picked up the familiar sounds of rustling papers, filtered through with haste unbecoming of a noble, and furniture being moved around rather roughly…

"I don't think I want to know." Kira murmured. Deciding it would be far safer simply to leave the eccentric captain to his ways, the 3rd division lieutenant left the door to his back, and turned his path towards the 5th division headquarters.

As he wandered through the rather trouble mazes of spirit-laced ivory and marble, Kira made note of the various scenery, being as he had little else to occupy his mind. The sky of the Seireitei took on a coal-black hue, the stars shading away from the vindictive, crawling darkness around them. The towers and spires of the Seireitei rose high, reaching up to graze the malignant sky, failing for eternity. Briefly his eyes chanced a glance at the prison tower, which he had heard Rukia Kuchiki was supposed to go to. However, for one reason or another, despite the increased mandates of the Central 46, Yamamoto put aside the concerns of the senate body for the sake of the targeted captain, in an unusual reversal of fortune. Kira found the whole matter peculiar, but said nothing. It did not make any sense for the Central 46 to forget about the well-being of one of its captains for the constant demand of an unseated Soul Reaper, a fact Yamamoto (usually a loyal adherent to government) pointed out. He would continue forward with the acquisition of Rukia Kuchiki, but only after this newly identified menace was eliminated.

Perhaps that was why Captain Kuchiki was ferreting around in good haste. He had been acting strangely as of recent.

As he neared the 5th division office, the Assistant-Captain of the 3rd Division noticed something that he would never expect Aizen to do. The wooden door emblazoned with their number was slightly ajar, as if shifted open, and then forgotten. Being a prospect of both Aizen and Ichimaru, Kira had learned much of his mannerisms. Usually, regardless of him being there or not, the door was closed. So why…?

Kira quickly noticed a light left on: A simple lamp, he assumed, as Aizen did both his studies and his reports at night, often in solitude (unless Momo came). However, the window was left shut, quite unlike the door.

The blond soul reaper felt an unusual anxiety, bolstered by the darkness around him, as he inched closer to the door. Something was up, and he knew it. He couldn't feel Aizen's spiritual pressure, and Aizen, unless he had some sort of business, was in his office at the night hours.

"I wonder-" He murmured, for some reason struck by the desire to be quiet. What stopped his words was a sudden noise. A thump, as if a heavy object was hitting a stable piece of furniture. Then he heard an animalistic growl.

"**Ai…Zen…soft**_**." **_The voice incoherently growled. Then Kira heard a more recognizable voice.

"You seem interesting…show me your eyes." It was Aizen's but it lacked the calmness Kira was used to hearing. At this point, he could sense two spiritual pressures: one wavering, and the other dominatingly aflame.

**"…Kill…kill…For my brother. I ****see**** you**_**." **_Kira felt himself paralyzed, unsure exactly if he would be successful if he intervened. Aizen was much stronger than him, but from the sounds of it, Aizen was being overpowered.

**"It doesn't work…doesn't work…" **The savage, guttural voice said aimlessly. Kira heard him grip something, and then heard the familiar sound of metal. **"Spare my brother…I give favor." **

"What are you talking about?" Aizen spoke out. There was no fear, but he was still not in a place of dominance.

**"Slaughter the unjust, **_**Fujinai Yabanuta."**_

Kira heard a pair of blades dig into flesh, though what was what was still unknown. At this point Kira's concern overcame his cowardice. Muttering his _shikai_, he rushed to the door and kicked it open.

The sight was one he vaguely realized, Momo would faint over.

The room had been turned into a wreck, with all sorts of items flung around. Furniture was overturned. Blood was painted on the ceiling and ground. Reports, documents, and books were cast aside with abandon. The walls did not even escape unscathed, monitored with imprints of bodies. Kira's eyes were turned to main desk where the captain usually sat, and his stomach turned. There were two bodies there. One he recognized immediately as Sosuke Aizen, whose now-inert and bleeding body laid in a broken mess of timber. His kimono and haori were stained crimson with his own sticky blood, the wounds evident by a pair of large dirks penetrating his chest. His glasses were not on his face, tossed and broken half-way across the room. His eyes were vacant, and his body wasn't moving.

Kira's attention was drawn, instead, to the small man standing over him, his hands thrust out. His head was covered by a mane of long, brown hair, with a dash of pink at the very ends. He wore a kimono of white, instead of the typical Soul Reaper black. A vacant sword sheath stood at his hip, and all in all, he didn't look that impressive. Shabby in fact, from the way his clothes and hair were arranged. However, tension held in this anonymous man like a bow ready to fire. Kira noticed also a syringe in its hand, and the brown-haired man took no notice of Kira's entry. For him, he simply stuck the syringe into Aizen, and pulled back.

Kira found his voice then. "Y-You there! Raise your arms! You're under arrest."

The man didn't even pay him any attention. Kira wondered how he could even see with that mass of hair obscuring his vision. The man filled up his syringe, pocketed it, grabbed his dirks from Aizen's bleeding body, and turned to face Kira. Indeed, his hair was obscuring not just his eyes, but his entire countenance.

**"Out…of…my way.**" The man, perhaps Hinamori's size, snarled. The dirks were now in his hand.

"No! Do you belong to Canopus?!"

**"I belong…to…my little brother." **The head cocked itself, like a questioning beast. Kira caught a glimpse of his kimono, and saw a number of slashes on his front.

"You cannot fight me! You'll die with those injuries."

**"Get out…of…my…way." **The man said, raising his dirks again, a challenge from a bloody beast.

Kira looked to the man, and then back to Aizen, and saw that if he fought this man, Aizen certainly would be dead. And there was no guarantee that he could survive. The spiritual pressure being released by the little monster was shocking to him.

Kira lowered his blade, sighing in surrender. Realizing this, the brown-haired man cocked his head, before pocketing his dirks as well. Without another word, the stranger in the white kimono walked past Kira, his existence already forgotten.

For the Assistant-Captain, he realized time was of the essence. Cursing himself for lacking in _kido_ abilities, Kira tried to do what he could. It would indeed be his head, if another captain was slain.

--

End Chapter.

-The _zanpaku-to Fujinai Yabanuta _should translate literally into "Woman Love, Barbarous Song".


	13. Chapter 13: Haggard White Rabbit

I thank GrnEydDvl, AbaraiSuzuki, CWolf and Hinata'sbf for their courtesy in giving me their reviews. I have dedicated myself to this tale so far. Let the games go forward:

-I do not own BLEACH! Ownership belongs to that of Canopus and its members, Ortiz, Bloodswerth, The Warunabe Brothers, Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori, Hajime _**Roku**_ and the Shishi Roku.

_**Chapter 13: Haggard White Rabbit**_

_**August 16**__**th**__**, Early day…**_

__The murder of Sosuke Aizen did not set well for the morale of the Gotei 13, as Matsumoto learned. Even stranded in the living world, she could tell how the act was affecting them all. It was more than just the death of a captain, a feat believed almost impossible except by a Vasto Lord or another Soul Reaper of the captain class. No, what the new turnout did to them was entice a blood storm of palpable rage, hidden by some and expressed by others (Ironically, Zaraki and Kurotchuri were the exceptions. The former was eager to fight these power mongers, while the latter was more curious about the collected data of Canopus than actually killing them). It was one thing to kill a captain and disable another. But to do this, confounding and bamboozling their efforts while keeping themselves arrogantly in the dark…it was humiliating. And it was infinitely frustrating.

Matsumoto knew that Momo would not take this well, and when her captain learned of it, neither would he. She only hoped Renji and Kira would serve better in his stead.

August 15th was when she had heard about the whole affair, since the murder had occurred with the rise of the pale moon. Matsumoto had received a message from one harried Renji, who seemed rather high-strung in relaying the message. An unidentified warrior, most likely an agent of Canopus, had infiltrated the Seireitei, and with the element of surprise, and Aizen's own misplaced relaxation at his command, the warrior killed Aizen. Of this no one actually saw the fight, but Aizen was known for his abilities at _kido_, as well as the illusory powers of his _zanpaku_-_to_. The fact that either the assailant had been quick enough to keep the 5th company captain from drawing his blade, or even worse, the possibility that he was able to counter it…Matsumoto uncharacteristically felt her teeth grind into each other as she weighed the happenings, and left herself to her own thoughts, currently perched on the roof of the Kurosaki household. Though Kira had arrived on the scene, it did not immediately result in capture. Kira let the assailant go, defeated by his own self-doubts, and instead tried to save the bleeding Aizen.

Unfortunately, Kira was no medic. The wounds caused by the long knives of the warrior, who interestingly claimed to belong "only to his little brother", were too deep for a has-been surgeon to balm. It would've taken someone like Unohana in Kira's position to save Aizen's life, and that simply wasn't how things turned out. Thus, as Kira abandoned his attempt to heal the 5th company captain and instead loaded him on his back, the lieutenant tried to get the wounded superior to a better hospital in time.

Time cursed him with hot breaths. Aizen died on his back long before he reached Unohana, and two failures instead of one, were placed on the blond soul reaper's head. It was not an enviable position, having then to explain to your commander how you neither saved the life of your superior nor apprehended his assassin. According to Renji, who had been in attendance at the time, the tongue-lashing Yamamoto gave to Kira dropped the blond's head to the ground in shame.

It was expected: Kira could just as easily become hard as steel as crumple like a house of cards. Though he was a reliable friend, whether or not he had the stomach for war was questionable, and having to deal with the criticisms of a commanding officer was more than even he could hold. It did not help Kira's situation any that his Captain, Gin Ichimaru, had gone AWOL as well. Anticipated of that particular captain as it was, it still was most unprofessional.

The situation infuriated Yamamoto, and many other of the captains. They were being duped like headless chickens and toyed with. Three captains now were effectively removed: Aizen through death, Hitsugaya through disability, and Ichimaru through unexplained absence. It was by a most fiery command that Yamamoto ordered a tigher reign around the Seireitei, to which no more of these 'pretenders' could attack. The meanings of the cryptic messages still held themselves, with one perhaps being so easily dissolved. Also, as attention was drawn specifically to the 2nd Division, Soi Fon's squad found itself somewhat hampered politically. For what reasons, and still the purpose that ultimately perpetuated these men of Canopus to action…all this remained in a mystery.

To this end, Soul Society remained on vigilance. Like a proverbial stone wall, it was more careful of those that were enlisted into its folds. One would say too careful. It was not just Aizen's death and Toshiro's disability that set it off. Yet another calamity, as impossible as one might think, had besieged the Soul Reapers, discovered by a rather haggard Byakuya Kuchiki. Like a mirror to the devastation of Mashiba on Earth, The 6th Division captain had noticed how the Central 46, which just the prior day had been alive and unreasonably demanding in their skewed want of Rukia Kuchiki's return…they had fallen silent. Rather than burden the now high-strung Yamamoto and other captains with this now-frivolous matter, they fell almost to dormancy. Curious, as it was his 'sister' that was the object of their attention, Byakuya had visited to see if they would drop the issue for now, perhaps sparing Renji or another member of the 6th division to search out her whereabouts.

What he found on the other side of the door was a stagnant bloodbath. All of the Central 46 had been strewn around in their own squalor and dried blood, and judging by the fact that both the bodies had stiffened from days of stiffness and the blood was now a caked paint on the architecture. Though their was no evidence to suggest who the murderer was, it was not ruled out that Canopus again was responsible, given that they had already issued assassins. However, the time frame suggested, that if indeed Canopus was responsible, they had done it possibly a fortnight to the attack on Aizen. If anything, they did it possibly as early as Bloodswerth's first attack.

Even a sober Matsumoto found the whole predicament horrific. Horrific not as it frightened her, but horrific as they had no idea, even with the information gathered, to what was going to happen next.

They had acquired more data, though, as much as one could glean from Bloodswerth's corpse. It was with an excited Mayuri Kurotsuchuri and a repentant Retsu Unohana that the autopsy was done, and as much as possible could be noticed. For starters, it was noticed that the man was an albino, which explained his habit to dress as narcissistically as he could muster. Aside of his unique physiology, there were seven different tattoos placed on various parts of his body, each one forming a unique sigil, and yet to the trained eyes of Unohana, there was a pattern to each tattoo. Merged with each line-based tattoo was a purplish coloration, and a central design somewhat similar to this: A merging of the characters "I" and "H". On his left wrist, over his eyes, on his sternum, over his lower back, on the bottom of his right foot, on the back of his neck, and on his right shoulder…these were where these sigils were placed. Kurotschuri fervently cut away at the epidermis of the corpse, noticing how these sigils were imprinted all the way to the bone. Unohana also noted how the sigils, even with death, resonated with an aura similar to _Kido_…but with a different, almost sinister aura. Both medical experts also studied his body, which even in death, the man's touch continued to increase the spiritual power of whatever in fell upon. In interest, Kurotschuri took the residue to his own lab, for personal study.

It was from Unohana that more information was uncovered from the man: Particularly in the lining of his hat. A single, ambiguous message was left in the pocket, scrawled out almost in haste. Whether it was Bloodswerth's handwriting or not was impossible to figure, but Unohana recorded the message, and delivered it to Matsumoto:

"Capture the Sun, The Moon, and The Star. The Dragon will follow."

The dragon was obviously her captain, Hitsugaya. To what this meant was unknown, but as The Seven-Sealed Devil had fought Hitsugaya first, before capturing anyone…this meant that he had disobeyed again. At least something was going on.

For now, they could only look. If the surviving members of Canopus were found, then they could perhaps find this nameless leader. Until then…Matsumoto could afford to juggle her shopping sprees with observing her powerless captains.

Which brought her now to her captain.

Toshiro Hitsugaya had been targeted for death three times, and on all three occasions, Toshiro had either been left in need of medical attention. The last occasion, when the Seven-Sealed Devil had unsheathed more variants of his powers, left Toshiro in a poor condition that shocked his lieutenant. But what interested her the most was not the damage: Against a hedonist whose pleasure was battle itself (Akin to Captain Zaraki), perhaps this was inevitable. What grabbed her attention was that the wounds incurred on his body was done _while he was in front of Karin Kurosaki_. Taking blows was unavoidable to a practical Soul Reaper. The fact he was willing to put his own, power-deprived body in front of Karin's said something. Matsumoto could feel a smile form on her face as she thought the whole matter over. It was true that Hitsugaya was becoming distracted. But at the same time he was becoming…fond…of Kurosaki's little sister.

Even now, as she continued her vigilance, she discerned this growing fondness on his person. Yuzu and Isshin were gone at the moment, going to visit Ichigo again for the day (the whole family had gone the previous day). He stood in the Kurosaki backyard, taking a personal involvement in the exercise mentioned. Karin, gaining a _zanpaku-to _from the empowering touch of the obscure Bloodswerth, stood along side him, in close proximity, taking her animated blade in hand, as Toshiro delegated actions like a lax bureaucrat.

In her hand, she giggled: her soul pager found itself in her hand, and she took aim with it, for her own bits of gossip to be had.

--

If given the option of thought, if given the chance to look back, Hitsugaya would've never believed himself prone to distraction. As a dedicated captain, as unmoving and unchangeable as the ice he conjured, Toshiro always saw himself with a good-sense of tunnel-vision. Not that he could not perceive things, no. On the contrary, he had received compliments on his problem-solving skills. But that if he was issued some task, no matter how meial it was, no matter how boring it was, he was able to remain on key. In the past, this was painstakingly true. He had such a dedication to the good of Soul Society that he was somewhat separated by gulfs from his subordinates, especially Matsumoto, whose cosmopolitan habits flustered and confounded him. At one point, when offered the elixir of sake from his extroverted lieutenant, Toshiro quickly refused, accounting not the pleasure it would bring, but the myriad complications that would follow.

With his life targeted, the snow-peaked captain felt that keeping things in perspective would be all the simpler. He could find few situations that would make a person focus better than holding one's life for destruction. Though he himself still hadn't a clue as to why he would be booked so avidly by an array of dregs, he at least was certain he could hold himself to the path aead of him. Avoiding sanguinary ordeals should be easy of course.

Unfortunately, since the beginning, the Captain of the 10th division did not count on one crazy, spunky, midnight-locks Samaritan. Nor did he count on his magnetism to her.

His heart felt like it was nestled within puffy clouds, left warm by a sight he had no understanding for. Two days had passed since he stated his mind, his face flushed red at the admission that he-HE-enjoyed holding her vivifying hand, and his mind now endured a torrent of troubling internments, trying to settle everything as best as he could. Needless to say, he found himself lost as sea. Toshiro was used to keeping his mind a barren tundra and his face an impassive iceberg. Even if there was a lack of humanity in this approach, control was still there, and such a tight hold it was by his petite hands. This was all, however, before he met her. This was before Karin Kurosaki simply was an identifying name on a file and now such a vitalizing person. Toshiro was dumbfounded to explain the whole shenanigans. Just a fortnight ago he wouldn't have ever dreamed about thinking of a human girl this way…Momo was an exception, but she was a fellow Soul Reaper, one he had know for so long and one he was especially fond of. But his intrigue in Momo started and stopped with her affections for Sosuke Aizen. In retrospect, his little body and chilling personality didn't do much to charm people, an ability Aizen performed like a magician.

But Karin however…his eyes for some reason or another couldn't stay off her for long. This was not perversion, but it was practically instinctive.

_Why am I so interested? _Toshiro thought to himself, though he had an inkling to the answer.

It was a good-hearted enigma, locking in her raw emotion-laden face, one that he was in no rush to solve.

The rain clouds had returned in mass, though they did not possess the torrential might two days prior. The sun, as if intimidated by the threat of the potential deluge, hid sullenly from the ground below, like a kid told that he couldn't play because of muddy terrain. Behind them, where the house stood facing the street, the world remained busy, with its civilians still catering to the watches on their wrists and the shrill manipulations of their children. Cars of smaller make continued to fly by, now spurred on by a clandestine panic that had taken a weedy root in their bodies. It was only days after the Mashiba incident, jokingly likened to the ancient Bermuda Triangle in its mystery and suddenness, but responsible parents took a different look as to what the irresponsible teens did not. Even now Toshiro could hear their hums and roars, passing quickly by the Kurosaki household as they ventured to work or wherever. School, again suffering the weight of concerned parents, was canceled again, and police still struggled in vain to find a suitable suspect.

But that did not matter to Toshiro, who watched tediously at the tomboy before him.

"Why haven't done _shikai _yet?" Toshiro asked his friend. He was becoming impatient, and as he had nothing to occupy his hands with other than his large pockets, boredom was becoming a rigid nemesis.

Karin looked at Toshiro with a face of incredulity, her face red with agitation. "_Shi-what?_"

"The hammer. When you fought the Devil, you turned that into a war hammer. Why haven't you done that now?"

"Are you crazy, Shiro-Chan?"

"_Its Hitsugaya." _Toshiro hissed.

"You live under my roof. I'm calling you _Shiro-Chan!_" Karin announced unabashed. "And I'd like to see you do this yourself! This thing weights too much to be a darn sword!"

"…War hammers work like that." Toshiro said, pointing out the obvious. "Have you talked to your _zanpaku_-_to_ spirit yet."

"No." Karin said, leaning now on the blade. "Darn thing keeps chatting that I'm not its master, and 'you're not the boss of me', and that crap."

"Well…that's true." Toshiro said. His hand ran through his hair in frustration shared by her. Having been a exemplar prodigy in the academy, Hitsugaya had exceeded most of his teachers, much less his peers. He had never been taught long enough to understand the apprentice's viewpoint, and he had never been much of a teacher to begin with. But necessity trumped his own pride, and he secretly wanted a reason to spend time with Karin: It wasn't like he had anything better to do, in spite of Matsumoto's invitations. The _last _thing he wanted was to be caught off-guard by his lieutenant or the ones seeking his head.

"Well if its not mine, how am I supposed to use it?" Karin interrupted.

"You were the one foolish enough to play with things that don't belong to you." Toshiro responded ruthlessly. "If you didn't use that syringe in the first place…"

"I know, I know! Don't remind me!" Karin smarted back, his attitude rising in response. She swung her sword again, but by now Toshiro was offset by her lack of form. She held the blade as if it was a baseball bat, and swung it as if some pitcher was lobbing her a bone. Subconsciously his eyes grazed over her; Never one to dress up, even on their little 'mock' date, Karin had donned her usual attire of shirt and shorts, bearing blank designs. He vaguely wondered how the dismantlement of her brother had affected her: Though he had no family, Momo did count something close to a big sister, and until he surpassed her, he had viewed her as both annoying and gigantic. Gigantic, not so much in size, but more in that he looked up to her as infallible in the face of adversity. Karin and Yuzu, as he learned, looked up to Ichigo in the same way, and Ichigo took that responsibility dangerously close to his heart. A guardian's creed practically dominated his life.

Yuzu, as he remembered, had tried often, when Ichigo had been brought to them. Toshiro lied when he had been asked as to who demolished Ichigo so badly (As he had not seen it, he only heard a description of the behemoth Ortiz. Still, based on the fact that he was _made of metal_, Toshiro wisely figured that supplying the truth would offend his host), despite Isshin's persistence. As a doting father, the icy-captain knew he took this matter seriously. The flamboyance he typically displayed vanished the moment Toshiro and a few 'Good Samaritans' (Matsumoto and Ayasegawa being those fellows) brought the news to him. After a hasty interrogation, the whole family had been collected in the car, and ventured off to see the condition of the youth, now under the surveillance of a Dr. Ishida.

Again, Toshiro was aware of the enmity Isshin held for the physician, subtle as it was. But they remained fortunately as cool as possible, and thus the diagnostics were delivered. While the damage could have been considerably worse (had not Hanataro supplied some of his power. He could not grant it all between Ichigo _and _Ikkaku's severe injuries), Ichigo was in no shape to leave the hospital anytime soon. The lingering afflictions revolved mostly around his spinal column, which, according to Inoue, Ichigo had been furiously slammed into the resilient concrete by a vicious Ortiz. Thus, Ishida took careful charge, stating it would be 'payment for a past mistake'. Though he was irritated with the presence of the Kurosaki patriarch, he was a doctor as well.

The snow-haired captain knew how disillusioning it had been for the sisters, to see their brother utterly smashed, broken in a sterile bed by a mechanical brute. An inhuman juggernaut this being was, and apparently captain-level…Toshiro massaged his brow, his actions reading to his thoughts. Yuzu had cried often. Karin had yet to shed a tear. This perturbed the captain, and, while a grand novice to the ways of emotion, he wondered if holding back was really that good of an idea.

The raven-haired girl executed another sloppy swing, and at this point Toshiro could not remain quiet.

"Karin. You don't know a thing, do you?"

"What?"

"Have you ever held a sword before?" Toshiro asked.

Karin shook her head, honesty genuine in her scrunched face.

"Out of their minds, this whole family is…" Toshiro resolved. "If you're going to fight in my stead, or fight at all when this is over, you have to know proper technique. I can show you, if you'd like."

Already he could feel a heat burn in his face, but he hid it by looking away. Karin, though, was nothing if not obstinate, and made it painstakingly clear.

"That's alright, Shiro-Chan! I got the hang of-"

"You only need one hand."

"Huh?"

"Even if you can't do _shikai_, the way that _zanpaku-to_ is set is made for one hand use. Two hands removes its mobility." Toshiro remarked. His feet lead him to Karin, quickly bridging the distance between them. Without a word he got behind Karin, and placed his hand across hers, clutching the shamshir-esque blade simultaneously. Karin, surprised by the contact, blushed, but remained inert. She stiffened, though, at the breach of personal space, when Toshiro stood himself right behind her, placing himself as a shadow to her. His arm interlaced awkwardly with hers, clasping the warm pommel of the _zanpaku-to_, while he situated himself behind her.

"Now, let me show you. Like I said, you only need one hand." Toshiro, completely oblivious to Karin's reddening face and surprised body, merely demonstrated the right stance for the type of blade held. Taking her hand in his, the pair practiced diagonal swings of the curved blade, harmlessly cutting the air as they did so. His eyes looked down a bit as well, catching a look at her posture.

"Remember how you played soccer? Could you stand like you would then?"

Karin, still somewhat unsure exactly what the _heck _the boy captain was thinking, merely did as she was told. The weight in her hand made her falter somewhat, but her body had become attuned to sports. Going into a soccer stance was effortless.

"All right…" Toshiro mumbled. "Now…try it."

He let go of her hand, and stepped back. Seeing this, Karin found initiative. The blade named _Yousenkawa_ cut through the air quickly, its weight still apparent, but it was quieter in its rebellion.

"Keep trying that." The snowy-haired captain stated, his eyes watching the sword. "You're an amateur, but with Ichigo as your brother…this will come natural."

"……Toshiro…Which guy was it that…that…" Karin faltered as she tried to find the words. Her shell crumbled at the mention of a password, and inadvertently, Toshiro had said it.

_Aw damn…I shouldn't have brought it up…_

Having been embroiled in a life-or-death duel with the Spaniard Janus Bloodswerth, neither Toshiro nor Karin saw and experienced the acclaimed might of Ortiz. But Matsumoto and Ayasegawa had, and they testified that it had been the cobalt-armored monster that left Ichigo in the sorry state he was. Perhaps it would be extremely distasteful of him to think that it could have been worse. The damage done had been all apparent, especially in the manners of the family, which by now Toshiro had come to understand. Yuzu cried often. Isshin lost some of his sunlight. Karin, except in the presence of him, hardened her outer shell. But, as a girl of eleven years old, the emotional dam could only hold so long.

"It's not important."

"Bullcrap! I want to…to…" Karin found herself shaking in anger. This was not the aggravated anger she directed at her friends, anger which melted relatively quickly. In fact, Toshiro could remember seeing this type of anger before, primarily on an infuriated Soi Fong or Sajin Komamura. But these were hardened captains. It curled his stomach repulsively to see Karin this way.

"Shiro-Chan…I…I…I…why did that happen…to Ichi-ni? Why?"

Logic was a flawless pathway for him. It had never failed him before. "Karin. I regret what happened to Ichigo. I wish I could've stopped it myself. But we couldn't do anything."

"Don't tell me we can't do anything! We're doing something right now!" Karin barked out. "You lost your powers, and yet we managed to get out unscathed, right?"

"I wouldn't call what happened to me coming out unscathed." Toshiro clarified. He turned to face her, as she now stared up to the rain-laden clouds. "We are taking on a dangerous set of foes. If that _wasn't _the case, we wouldn't be in the predicament we are in now. Ichigo got hurt. As a soul reaper, unfortunately…that's inevitable. You've seen the hollows, Karin-we are like soldiers, in a way. We get the bad guys most of the time, but there are times when we lose some of our number."

"……I wanted…Ichi-ni…to…" Karin trailed off, her words lost to concentration emboldened by her eyes clanking shut. Toshiro wondered if she was trying to hold back a dam of a more realistic nature. "…why did Ichi-ni have to go away? Like Mommy?"

Toshiro realized he was in some deep trouble. He would have to tread carefully with his tongue. "…Ichigo is not targeted by Canopus. That is me. If Canopus wants to take someone away…they will come after me. Even so…I promise you Karin…as much as I can help it…I will keep Ichigo from being claimed by them."

Toshiro, intelligent as he was, could not have predicted Karin's next move. As he extended a hand to her shoulder, as some means of comfort, Karin lunged at him surprisingly. The small, tomboyish girl embraced him, her lithe arms beleaguering his movement as she finished the initiative, her head finding shelter over his shoulder. Completely at a loss, the young Hitsugaya ironically froze at her close and unanticipated contact, their bodies literally enclosed upon the other. His arms hung in the air, forgotten, and if his hearing did not fool him, he thought he heard a mechanical click, alien to the outside fauna.

For minutes the young children stood there. Karin did not relinquish the pressure of her squeezing, instead almost content to remain there, as if inside a sanctuary. Her breathing, her emotions, everything settled into a rhapsodic peace, so long as she retained the connection of her hands gripping the cloth on his back. Toshiro, on the other hand, was still stupefied by the action, and realized that he would be due for embarrassment if Soul Society got wind of this scene. That, and if Ichigo hadn't been in a hospital bed, he would be clubbing the tar out of the boy genius. But as Karin was not willing or wanting to release her hold, he realized that he, too, did not want to release the hold. Instead, novice to these customs as he was, Toshiro gradually imitated the mannerisms of her. His arms encircled her, to her back, and rested just at her spine. Their breathing fell into as one symphony, and what matter did time have, in the simple act?

Toshiro found no objection. For once, he did not care about the loss of his powers, or his position as captain, or the threat of Canopus. What he wanted was before him, in his arms, and he in hers.

Eventually, Toshiro tentatively let go, and Karin copied the act. Her head was bowed, face hidden in the mane of crow wing-black hair, but again Toshiro could swear he could see some red on her face. Not that he was ungrateful. For a moment, he felt _he _was blushing, but for what he was unsure.

Then, it was abruptly cut short, as Karin, again implementing that same level of unpredictability, kicked him hard in the shin.

Toshiro bit his tongue as he hopped on a leg. "D-darn it Karin! What was that for!"

"A warning! You promised me you'd help Ichi-ni! You better keep it! And don't you die either!"

"And If I fail to fulfill this promise?"

"Then so help me, Shiro-chan, you better hope these flunkies get you before I do!"

The words of an eleven-year old kid are often discredited, but Toshiro was no fool. Easily he could see the seriousness in her statement. She meant every word she said, and he wondered if she would do as she threatened.

_Yeah. She would._

Her mock anger melted, replaced by the revisited countenance of gaunt uncertainty. Her feet twiddled in the ground, kicking in the watered grass, as she held the _zanpaku-to_ so foolishly injected into her system. "I'm going to master this."

"Yes…I guess you are." Toshiro agreed. "But you have to learn how to fight _first_. Any kid can wave a stick around."

"In case you haven't noticed, Shiro-Chan, we _are _kids."

Hitsugaya continued on, as if unperturbed by the whole affair. "Be as it may, there is a need for discipline. We have to do something, after all…if we're lucky, we can coerce or bargain with your _zanpaku-to _spirit. I've only seen this happen once before."

"When was that?"

"One of our captains owns a _zanpaku-to_ that does not belong to him, though where or how he got it, I'm not sure. Tosen would be a better teacher than me, but at least I can teach you how to fight. So, let us begin, shall we?"

The wooden practice sword of Toshiro, forgotten and abandoned in the rain-saturated lawn, remained in the same place as he discarded it days before. A keen eye drew a bead on it, and moments later it found its place in Toshiro's hand once more.

"Be careful, Karin. I'm better than I look."

"Better than an elementary student? 'Cause that's what you look like!"

"…I'm not an-For the love of…" Toshiro shook his head, indicating his misgivings, before grabbing his sword again. "Come on."

There were smirks on both of their faces, and more than once, as the idle school-lacking day progressed, Toshiro swore he could still hear mechanical clicks, strange for any insect at this time of the year, up near the roof of the house. It would be another day, before Toshiro figured out that he was under the watchful eye of his lieutenant, but it was an afterthought. His mouth found work as a dutiful teacher, and his hands executioners of those teachings.

In a way, in just being near her…he felt content. Canopus was again, far from his mind.

He did not notice the black fedora, perched simply on the fence behind him, as if it were a place to hang one's hat.

--

_**August 16**__**th**__**, Karakura Hospital…**_

Hospitals were nothing new to Yuzu Kurosaki. In each hospital, no matter the language, no matter the location, there were certain textures familiar to the fair-haired girl that always seemed to be present, boundlessly and similarly, in each infirmary. It was more than just the scampering white-clothed nurses and bleach-coated physicians, each walking in a way that showed their place on the hierarchy. Having dressed as a nurse in assistance to her dad, even her infantile eyes could pry and pick up the trademarks of the medical profession.

She sat in the waiting room, where relatives of patients and other wards were forced to remain in its bland selection of routine chairs and calcimine wallpaper substituting for more-appropriate prison-bars. Her hands found restlessness in her lap, as she commanded them to be still. An assortment of tables mingled with the chairs, offering libel-laden newspapers and redundant books, but Yuzu, a child, had no intrigue in the print of adults, though her curiosity would bring her to ask. Her hands continued to fidget around, fixating on something in order to hold. If at home, she could easily supply a stuffed bear or ape, and be calm again. However, it would appear babyish to take a stuffed animal with her, and even if it calmed her down, the circumstances bugged her immensely.

She hated seeing Ichigo the way he was now. The horrific thought splintered both sisters' self-control, even for a fraction of a minute, and one could not say which felt it the most. Yuzu remembered well how she felt, seeing her brother in an ICU. His body had been crumbled by goodness-knows-what, and the nurses had murmured 'what sort of man could possible do THAT?' as they looked over her shoulder. The shock froze her blood, almost making it go in reverse in revulsion. She had not lost her innocence. But she had been sickened terribly. Tears almost instantly formed on her face, and she had found solace in her sister Karin, who embraced her, but did not shed a tear. She envied that in a way. Yuzu had been called a crybaby on occasion at school. It didn't last long, between her brother and sister, but the insult had been marred in her memory.

It was not supposed to be like that. Ichigo was supposed to be a giant, a knight that couldn't be harmed. He had many fights with many bullies before, and every time, undoubtedly, he'd bounce back up, and walk away the winner. Yuzu would worry over the multiplying bruises and cuts that he wore like badges of honor, but at least Ichigo had been able to walk home. At least he could always look at Yuzu with a smile, and say truthfully, that he would always come home for his little sisters, that he would never let anyone hurt his little sisters. To that end, he had always fulfilled his duty, even at the cost of his body.

Yuzu could not remember how long she had clutched to Ichigo's lifeless arm, pulsating yet unmoving, before Daddy gently peeled her off.

Today Yuzu had asked her daddy if they could see Ichigo again, since the schools were still shut down. Whether or not she would be able to hold herself together after the last episode was an unknown, for Yuzu loved her brother. It tore her beyond recognition internally to see him like that, with tubes attacking his upper body. Daddy had been saddened too, but he had hidden it exceptionally. Thus, the reason she was in the waiting room: Apparently, her daddy wanted to speak with the physician Dr. Ishida, who seemed…bothered, for lack of better word. Toshiro and Karin had opted to stay home for one reason or another, thus leaving Yuzu in the saccharine room, with its fake air freshener smell and its loitering wallpaper.

Minutes transformed to hours in her head. What was taking Daddy so long?

There was only one other person aside of herself in the room, and he appeared a bit weird. The fact that she could not remember meeting this person, and yet having his obvious uniqueness spray in the face of normalcy made Yuzu want to giggle. It was not his clothes, which were basic for any commoner, nor his actions, which he merely tossed a ball up and down in the air to pass the time. No, what caught her attention and what made him stand out so much was his hair: It was vibrant, hot pink, clearly artificial on the small man. His eyes were hooded, and seemed to share her own boredom.

Yuzu kept her eyes on the man, lacking any sort of other distraction to keep her occupied. From the pink-haired fellow, her eyes fell onto his ball, which was red, like a clown's nose bobbing up and down in the air. Her attention kept so close on it that she realized suddenly, that it disappeared.

Surprised, she looked to the man, who noticed her attention on him, and showed both hands, empty. With a magician's flair and a new smile to shy away his languid demeanor, he withdrew his left hand, brushed on his clenched right, and from the inside came the red ball, which he tossed around.

"Like that, eh?" The pink-haired fellow said. Yuzu, now smiling, nodded. "I can do a number of tricks. Don't ask me to do cards though. I cheat."

"That's pretty cool! Who do you do it?"

"Magicians don't tell their secrets, little lady. I'm not a magician, but I like doing the tricks. Just can't do much here."

"What can you do?" Having been corrupted by Don Kanonji, she asked in earnest.

"Well…" The young man, perhaps a little older than Ichigo Yuzu measured, dropped into a thinking pose, and rubbed his chin comically. "I can't pull a rabbit out of my hat, but…" He tossed the clown-nose ball into the air, and as it descended, he caught it. Opening his hand again, he revealed it to be vacant once more. "Illusions are pretty well to me."

Without a word, he walked over to her, and pointed to her pocket. Intrigued, Yuzu reached into it, and produced the same rubber ball.

"That's cool! I wish I could do that!"

The pink-haired man only smirked. "So do I." After turning his face forward, he sat back down next to the fair-haired Kurosaki. "So…do you have a name?"

"Oh! Um…I'mYuzu Kurosaki."

"I am Takumi Warunabe."

"Why are you in the hospital, Mr. Warunabe?"

"…To be blunt, I'm here for my brother."

"You have a brother?" The mention reminded her of her own case.

"Yes. His name's Tamashi."

"…My brother's also here…"

"Well, it can't be that serious…can it?"

"He's really…really hurt…" Yuzu steeled herself as best she could. The damage done was more than she could bear, true, but exposing this to a stranger wouldn't help matters at all.

"…Well, he's in the hospital, so…he should turn out all right. If you believe he won't recover, how will he?"

Yuzu did not know where next to commence, so she brought her next point up. "What's your brother doing here, Mr. Warunabe?"

A tightening of the lips Yuzu detected. "He's suffered both physiologically and psychologically."

"What do you mean?"

"He's blind."

The plain, truthful statement brought about an awkward silence. Yuzu was hushed into confusion, but she tried to continue the conversation. "How did he-"

"His eyes were burned. Badly. He's adapted to life without sight, but he's extremely bitter. Can't do anything he wants to do. I pretty much help him out all the time. The doctors have been looking for a cure, but they haven't found one yet. That's not why I'm here though."

"Why are you hear today sir?"

"Psychological evaluation." Takumi Warunabe said plainly again. The tone of his voice closed the matter entirely, and so Yuzu left it alone.

"…Your brother…he was attacked by a gang, right?" Takumi asked starkly.

"Uh…that's what Toshiro told me."

"Toshiro?" Takumi asked.

"Uh…he's a guest in our home." The Kurosaki's seemed to be getting some weird people at their homes as of recent, she realized, but she ignored the point.

"Ah." He said. A smile was on his face, on that Yuzu found comforting. It was similar to Ichigo's, she thought.

"Mr. Warunabe?" A new voice entered, stark and tut. This was a nurse, wearing the pallor of fatigue on her body. The pink-haired Takumi stood in response.

"My brother?"

"Tamashi is ready to go."

"His condition isn't good." Takumi semi-asked.

"…Unfortunately no. He's suffers from delusions, sir. You might be wise to put him in a-"

"-Sanitarium?" Takumi finished. "Absolutely not. Bring him, please."

Yuzu tried to ignore the haggard conversation between the nurse and the magician. Her attempts were saved by another, as her daddy came bounding in, his face forced into an animated grin. Dr. Ishida followed behind him, a look of utter contempt etched on his intelligent face.

The pink-haired Takumi continued to haggle behind them, as she was quickly led away by her father. In her ears Dr. Ishida spoke on what could be a 'dreadful shock', but Yuzu didn't pay much heed at the moment. She was distracted by the newer entry, walking without the aid of a nurse. It was slightly older man, with his posture slouched. His face was covered by a wreath of brown hair (lacking his brothers' distinct color preferences), and his clothes were relatively normal. However, his hands seemed to probe vacantly around, as if grasping for some foreign object, and never attaining it.

"Tamashi! Come, big brother!"

**"Brother…" **the smaller man snarled, as the nurse excused herself. His voice appeared radically altered and raspy. **"Get them…yet?"**

"Not yet…he has company…"

Their words degenerated into silence with increasing distance. Yuzu pushed the strange men out of her mind, and turned her attention back to the doctor, who was saying… "I'm afraid there is a possibility he's paralyzed from the waist down, with the damage he's suffered in his vertebral columns…most of the damage is concentrated in the lumbar region…"

Yuzu fainted at the realization of the doctor's diagnosis.

--

_End Chapter_.

This is shorter than most, but hopefully, you'll like it. Just trying a little something offered by a friend of mine.


	14. Chapter 14: Tweedledee, Tweedledum

Thank you all, who take the time to read and review my work. It does wonders for me. Especial thanks to timydamonkey, whom I am exceedingly grateful for his criticism.

Disclaimer: Bleach is the ownership of Tite Kubo. Not me. Only the members of Canopus (Janus Bloodswerth, Ortiz, Naikao, The Warunabe Bros., Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori, and The Shishi Roku) are mine.

Let the story begin.

_**Chapter 14: Tweedledee, Tweedledum**_

_**August 17**__**th**__**, Afternoon…**_

__A genius in many respects, Toshiro could not help but feel at an extreme loss at what transpired the previous day-both involving him and the family which he lived with. While both events stirred a sense of emotional disquiet in them, easily he could categorize the pair into one good and one bad. Unsure how to approach either scenario, for they remained steadfastly locked in the realm of emotionality instead of his preferred icy logic, Toshiro kept his mouth shut for a time.

As the youngest captain, he had learned to make close allies of his fellow captains, while unconsciously developing enemies. Of the captains, he tolerated the wry Gin Ichimaru the hardest, often with Matsumoto's interests at heart. Of particular note, he held respect for senior member Retsu Unohana, who alone could be named the best healer of the Seireitei. Due to the injuries that he and members of his squad had endured, he learned it was wise to glean good relations with the hospital, albeit there were times when Unohana could get downright scary.

After learning what he did yesterday, when a distraught Yuzu and a dampened Isshin returned home, he strongly wished he could get her out to help.

While he had not seen the monstrous battle in Mashiba, where untold carnage and destruction cultivated itself amidst the neophyte masonry and technology, Matsumoto had told Hitsugaya deeply about what had transpired, and left no detail untouched. She spoke of Takumi Warunabe, whose illusions were so great that he fooled the entire residency of Mashiba into seeing everything as ordinary…at least until the 'morrow. She told of how she, Ayasegawa, and Uryu Ishida had defeated Garm, Olacion, and Sum Mannus, slaying them without much effort. And she told the aftermath, aided by Orihime Inoue, of the fight against Ortiz. The information gleaned from the tape recorder indicated that Ortiz was one of the strongest members of Canopus, alongside the nameless brother of Takumi. The fight had proven it on the surface, leaving the battle-strong Yatusora, Madarame, Rukia, and Ichigo unconscious, and Ortiz stopped from killing only by the pleading of his psychic ally. Of the four, Sado and Rukia had been fortunate: Rukia's neck had been healed by Inoue. Sado's fortune came with his iron-hard body. Even though he took a blast that Matsumoto assumed was 'his version of a Cero Blast', he was able to get up, and suffered only from a state of unconsciousness. Ikkaku however fell prey to his berserker tendencies. He never backed down, and he could not accumulate any damage on the metallic giant. Ikkaku had crashed into virtually every possible object that encircled them during that fight, from walls to mailboxes to car windshields, and walked out of the fight with a broken nose and a fractured skull. While Unohana and Hanataro had been able to keep him alive, by no means would he be rejoining the frontlines anytime soon.

Ichigo's injuries had been the worse. As a living Soul Reaper, he had vacated his body, to which ultimately he had to return to. The damage inflicted to him while as Soul Reaper transferred to his physical body: The healers present, Inoue and Hanataro, had extinguished themselves for the most part, healing Sado, Rukia, Madarame, and Ichigo. With the strawberry-haired punk, they couldn't get it all, and so handed it to the hospital.

The climax of the fight, as Inoue remembered, had been a bone-breaking, highly accelerated slam into the concrete. Only the concrete surrounding his upper back gave way. Because it did give around his head, as Dr. Ishida explained, and as now Isshin told the family, it had mercifully knocked him out (Neither Isshin nor Ishida knew of the brawl with Ortiz, and so assumed Ichigo got into a fight with a gang). However, and more dangerously, because the asphalt did not give around his _lower _back, he suffered reflective damage to his lower spine, particularly the lumbar region.

The fact that Ichigo could be paraplegic was something not even iron willed Karin could take. Upon finding out the dangerous possibility, Karin retreated to her room, and shut the door.

If school had not finally resumed, perhaps the darker-haired twin would have stayed there. Toshiro, uncertain as to how to deal with this again, did not bother her. Yuzu instead, despite her mutual despair, forced Karin to come, and go to school with them. For the entirety of the day, Toshiro did not dwell his mind on the ominous threat of Canopus and its fixation with him. He rarely moved far from Karin, who became almost stone dead.

A few of Karin's friends, who routinely played soccer with her, had asked about the situation. Toshiro, still not familiar with any of his classmates by anything more than sight basis, faltered coldly, and Yuzu took the reins, telling them that Karin needed time alone. For a moment, Toshiro respected her resolve: To have a mother absent, a brother injured, and a sister a nervous wreck and still retain her demeanor was nothing shy of superhuman, especially at her age.

School came and went for the day, the teachers tentative and the students anxious for yet another school day out. Toshiro kept his silence about the whole affair, and the trio remained otherwise silent as they walked back home. The sources of their silence differed in their psyches: Karin still was in her perpetual shock, Yuzu burdened herself, mumbling about what to cook for the night, and Toshiro himself sat in his disquiet, trying to find an answer to this situation. There was none.

He tried to relate mentally what other female friends of his would do, to get themselves out of this stupor. Matsumoto retreated to the bottle, and immersed herself with friends: That plan was immediately destroyed on the account that under _no _circumstances would he introduce alcohol to Karin's lips. Momo's habits were more reasonable, however…when she suffered some sort of trouble, she would either visit him or Aizen…that he could manage, if Karin would talk to him. At the moment, save for her movement, she was very much like the still unconscious Ichigo.

Vaguely he wondered who Ichigo's friends were dealing with this: He knew it was not well.

_Karin…this isn't you._

The alien disposition Karin displayed proved a scourge to the 10th Captain's psyche. In spite of his wants, he could see this was affecting everyone. Admirably, Yuzu was faring the best, her parental obligations a decent buffer against her pain as she prepared another meal. Isshin bore a crestfallen visage, completely unlike him, and yet more human than Toshiro gave him credit for. Karin, already tougher than a full-fledged leatherneck, simply, quietly, crystallized further her anguish.

When the meal was ended, planted in an obstinate, naughty silence that Toshiro cursed inwardly, Karin ghosted her way back to her room. Isshin, obvious bothered not just by the situation involving his son (and as a clinician, he understood full and well the repercussions and uncertainty his only son now faced), also wandered away, in need of solitude to gather his thoughts, as Toshiro assumed. That left Yuzu and the young Hitsugaya, alone in the kitchen. Hitsugaya embroiled himself in a book he was required to read for his class-a tale about fairies, interestingly, broken into short stories of the European diorama (In particular, he was reading about some man, who was some sort of wizard, that came to a town, and lead a bunch of rats into a nearby river, with just a flute. Absurd, indeed). Yuzu, on the other hand, busied herself in the much-feared kitchen patrol, aware of Toshiro's presence but holding to a silence unbefitting a girl of eleven years.

"Toshiro."

"Its Hitsugaya, Kurosaki." Toshiro remarked.

"…Can I ask you something?"

Toshiro lowered his book, giving the fairer-haired sister his attention.

"Why do you let Karin call you by your first name, and no one else?"

Silence greeted her, for Toshiro genuinely did not have an answer. Truth be told, the reason he was so lax was because he didn't mind. It felt good, pleasing to his ears, when she spoke to him by name…

"Well? Hitsugaya?"

"…I don't know."

"You seem to spend a lot of time together, that's all I'm getting at."

"…I like being around her." Toshiro admitted subconsciously. A second later realization slapped him, and he in turn physically slapped his forehead.

Even with her back turned, the 10th squad captain figured Yuzu was smiling. Difficult to do with the past events, but probable.

"Can I ask something else?"

"I'm not stopping you."

"Why are you and Karin always play-fencing?"

Again, Toshiro was at a loss, but this time his words were more adequately prepared. "She took an interest in kendo. I happen to have some knowledge there."

"Kendo? But…she's always been into soccer."

"She hasn't really had much time." Damn, how he loathed the lies filtering out of his mouth.

"Well…why don't we go all play one day, on the weekend?"

"Huh?"

"Well, Karin needs some cheering up, and…" Yuzu trailed off, and Toshiro could get an idea of what exactly she was attempting. She was struggling to keep everything together, of what she could. Despite the disaster that had impacted them all, him the least and Ichigo's sisters the most, Yuzu was trying to hold it together.

"You think I should play a game with her?"

"Sure!" She exclaimed over the shuffling of various silverware and pots. Water rinsed and mingled between her hands and the kitchenware, as she devoted his attention between the boy at the table and her housekeeping duties.

"Didn't she tell you what happened last time?"

"Uh…no, Hitsugaya, she didn't."

"She smacked me."

"S-Smacked you?"

"Yeah. On the face."

"_On the face?_"

"Yeah. In the face, practically on my mouth." Actually, it had been nearer to the top of his head, but he didn't feel like revisiting the particulars.

"H-h-how, how did it feel?"

"What kind of question is that? How else does a smack feel like? We finished our game, I won, and then she smacked me on the face quite promptly."

"Why didn't Karin tell me this?"

"Huh?"

"Why didn't Karin tell me that she _kissed_ you, of course?!"

At this, Toshiro's jaw dropped, and his composure was completely annulled. "Wh-wh-what?! I didn't say she kissed me!"

"You said she smacked you!"

"Of course she did!"

"On your face!"

"Yes, on my face! Where else are you going to target a smacking?"

"Then she kissed you!"

Toshiro's hand creased his brow in unbelievable agitation. He had heard of what a kiss was, as Matsumoto, Momo, and a number of romantic movies in the Kurosaki den told. But under no means had he ever done it himself. How Yuzu gleaned this information out of his statement was mind-boggling. He looked through creaked-open fingers, spotting that the fairer-haired sister had abandoned her kitchen-bound duties in favor of ferreting over the misinterpreted circumstances. Hands dug in apron, and a joy previously exorcised by the severity of Ichigo's injuries returned to her youthful face. While this made Toshiro feel better, it wasn't getting the facts straight.

"So," She continued, "Did you like it? Was it your first time?"

"I _didn't kiss _her."

"Okay, okay, she kissed you…but did you like it?"

"She didn't kiss me _either!_"

"But you said she smacked you." Yuzu finally took the moment to face him, and she could see how ridiculously animated he was becoming.

"We didn't kiss. She just clubbed me with her soccer ball when she lost."

"…Oh."

"What did you think I was meaning?"

"You said she smacked you on the face, so I thought she kissed you."

"She did smack me! With a soccer ball!"

He noted her crestfallen expression on her face, and found it funny. It was almost like she wanted the statement to be true. Toshiro was grateful that wasn't the case. He imagined the nightmare awaiting him if _that _became a reality, and his fellow captains found out about his attachment to a human. True, it wasn't against the rules, but…it would be too much. Between Kurotschuri, Zaraki, and Unhand (not to mention Matsumoto and Momo), he would be drawn haggard from the whole darn ordeal.

"Toshiro. Could you do me a favor? There's still some stuff I need to clean up down here. Could you…could you make sure Karin's all right?"

The request seemed simple enough. Her anxiety was all apparent, and her concern for her twin understandable. But he could swear that the curling of her lip, however faint, did not bode well for him. In the end, he relented.

"All right," came the mere reply, and Toshiro thus excused himself.

It occurred to him only after he knocked on the door, and quietly crossed the threshold, that he hadn't a clue what to say. Girls had not always been his specialty. Past excursions with Matsumoto, Momo, and Soi Fong had taught him that.

Anxiety-his own- lingered in his belly, as he stepped inside, an actor without a script.

--

Karin had held onto the blade Yousenkawa for a longer time than she noticed. How long she cradled that blade, which shouted on in her mind that she was not its master, that it would never follow her orders again…she did not care. It settled her nerves, calmed her down amazingly, in light of the returning flood of emotions.

The reminder of Ichigo's injuries did not sit well with her. Anything bad happening to her family riled through her core. The powerlessness to deter those calamities did not help her at all, either. So instead, she had to withdraw. She had to find peace, trying so hard to glue the portrait she treasured…but it seemed that more and more the picture was torn. More and more, the pieces drifted to anarchist winds. More and more, the control she wanted, the stability she craved…it was vanishing.

She wanted to cry. And she despised that. She had almost broken down with Toshiro standing in front of her. The hug she gave was a way to keep those tears away, to bolster her confidence and optimism in the future again. But that was before she knew of the extent of Ichigo's injuries.

She wanted to cry.

Mom had always been good about that. She never judged her when she cried, but she was four and under at that time…

She did not hear the door open, but she did hear a small footfall on her carpet. Believing it was Yuzu, her response was automatic.

"Go away! I want to be alone!"

There was no answer behind her, from her place on the bed. The rain had held off for now, though the clouds finally began to break, but she did not receive an audible answer. Instead, the footfalls neared her, disobeying her entirely.

"Hey! Go away! Leave me alone!"

Karin's remark was not answered for a second time. But she could hear the persistence of her interloper again, with soft, padded footsteps breaching the carpet floor. The footfalls stopped at the other side of the bed, with her being on the opposite side. Her hands, again surprised at the forceful nature of the interloper, grasped a pillow, and tucked it in her hands.

Karin tried to shout out again, tried to banish what family member came into her privacy. Her words were eaten away before she could form them fully, as a pair of arms encircled her and whirled her forcefully around. Teal blue eyes stared at her, bedecking a face of neutrality, and framed further with not sandy blonde hair, like her sister's, but snow-white hair…Toshiro's.

His hands rested complacently on her shoulders, as he stared at her, and she to him for silent moments. He did not say anything at first; Though his face was impervious to change currently, his teals seemed active and bothered, as if searching for the right thing to say. Likewise, Karin was so surprised at his intervention that she forgot her misery and her desire of loneliness, all to make sense of his arrival.

The quiet moment did not last long. Quickly Karin recovered, and her battering-ram fist-abnormally strong as her classmates would testify-lunged out. Toshiro received her fist in full, and fell from the bed on the back of his head; He did not have a firm balance on the bed, and so the normally-agile captain landed in a compromising circumstance.

Karin's agitation boiled into her throat, as she spoke. "Darn it, Toshiro! Don't sneak up on me!"

Toshiro did not immediately respond in what could be called 'appropriate language.' He grunted, shifted his balance, and looked up to Karin from his place on his knees, before producing a more elegant retort.

"You should've been able to sense me."

"…What?"

"You have such a high spiritual pressure that you drown out most others. Yuzu's, for example, is nullified under your brimming powers. Mine, however, is so tangled that even a psychic monkey could locate me. So why couldn't you?" Toshiro asked.

Karin, not in the mood for science in the least (it was her worst subject anyway), huffed out. "I had things on my mind."

"Do you blame yourself still for what happened to Ichigo?" Toshiro gruffly responded. "Don't. You and I were accosted by The Seven-Sealed Devil. Ichigo and the others were on the other side of the district. Even so…there was nothing either you or me could've done." Toshiro ran a hand through his face, the frustration mutual on the boy genius as it was on the raven-haired tomboy. "I do not like this, Karin, watching my friends fight my battles, when I am the source of their aggression, and not even knowing why they are attacking to begin with. But there is something I like even less."

Karin took the bait. "What's that?"

"Putting you through this," came the admission. His face remained one of frozen ice, holding his composure together like crystalline formations. He sat on the opposite side of the bed, his body half-facing her. Regaining himself again, as even Karin could tell this was novel and difficult an ordeal for him, Toshiro resumed.

"When I came here, it was not to meet you, or Ichigo. But…somehow, you both got dragged into this whole thing, even though from the beginning I've been the target. I regret what happened to Ichigo. I regret what's happened to Madarame, though he'll fare better. But I don't want you to fight in my stead, if you don't want to."

"Cut the crap. I'm fighting and you're not stopping me." Karin boldly responded.

"Karin…if I may ask…?" Toshiro remarked. Karin chanced a glance, and saw his attention had shifted, away from her and towards the picture of her mother, inert on the pedestal next to her bed.

"What?"

"Is that…your mother?" Toshiro asked, the uncertainty dripping off his voice.

Karin concealed her tongue. What could she say, at this point? Toshiro had stated the truth from his own lips, but he exhibited hesitancy, as if he wasn't sure where to go. She came to her decision hastily.

"Y-yeah."

"…Where is she?"

The raven-haired girl saw this question coming the moment Toshiro's twinkling eyes caught sight of that picture. It was not a subject any of the family spoke about, save her Daddy. Daddy always ran to the mural of her Mom every time he felt clownishly saddened, but none of the other children spoke that much about it. It just hurt too much, like scalpels rending tissue, hooking and pulling. Karin could not find her voice to answer immediately, the combination of Ichigo's injury, and the parallel relation to her mother stifling her larynx.

The white-haired boy on the other side caught this reluctance immediately, and floundered an apology. "If it cause you too much grief, I am sorry for bringing it up. I'll speak of some-"

"She's dead."

The admission sucked out her vibrancy, her energy, her vigor, that she carried in inexhaustible supply. She felt rain stain her pants, only to realize the rain was coming from her eyes. No way could she face Toshiro now. How often had she scolded Yuzu for the same thing? Hypocrite recited itself in her head.

"Dead?" Toshiro repeated, a little unnecessarily.

"Yeah! You heard me! She died!" Karin substituted her grief for misplaced anger, for reason she nether cared nor knew. Her inhibition to face Toshiro vanished as her belligerence surfaced, and she turned fully around. Toshiro, more at home she suspected with unemotional countenances, seemed flat-footed and could not form words best wagered appropriate. This irritated Karin even more.

"What? Why aren't you going to say something?!"

"…I don't know." Toshiro conceded.

"If you don't, I'll knock your teeth down your throat!"

"…Do you feel…responsible…for-"

"No." She interrupted, guessing the question before it was voiced. "I was four at the time. Ichi-nii was nine. I don't remember much about my mommy, but she was always…caring. She never got angry, or sad, or tired. She just was the best mommy anyone could have."

"How did she die then?" Toshiro asked. He had at some point inched nearer to her.

"I don't remember everything…Ichi-nii never talks about it, anyway. Daddy told me this: About six-years ago, Mommy and Ichi-nii were traveling back home in the rain. Then, something…happened. Daddy says it was maybe a piece of metal hanging off of a car or bus or something, but it was going to get Ichi-nii. Mommy…M-Mommy…Mommy pushed him out of the way, and got c-c-c-cut up…" Now tears flowed freely, because in light of the explanation, she had to reconstruct everything in her head. The pictures, contortions of an imagination already burdened by the spiritual world, weighed too heavily, and finally, the dams broke. She wanted to cry without anyone watching. She did not want to cry in Shiro-chan's presence.

She did anyway. Her voice drowned in convulsing tears. She did not look at the Soul Reaper captain, more concerned with saving her own face than seeing his. However, she felt pressure shifting on her bed, most of which she was oblivious to (perhaps her _Blue-Eyes White Dragon _doll had fallen down). Her finger bones stiffened with each tremor of her sorrow, gritting as nails into her thighs. Was it so hard for a tough girl to cry, and still hold some semblance of pride?

The body tremors stopped as she was forcefully turned, to where her front faced Toshiro, and his sinewy arms cradled her awkwardly…but entirely. She could not see his face, as hers was pressed over the crook of his neck, but the unexpected action made her stop for a moment. Her eyes flipped wide in shock from his spontaneity. But, as she realized this, and remembered the day before, her hands timidly encircled his back, as she found her outlet. The convulsions returned, but they had lessened in strength. Her fingernails dug into the back of his borrowed shirt-orange as Ichigo's hair, a present given ironically by their mother. She imagined the smell of her long-missed mother, who she was wanting so badly to see, and yet made peace with her death. Toshiro Hitsugaya, the stranger invited into her home, the wounded dragon found on her doorstep, said nothing to her. He altered his grip behind her back, refreshing it and finding a better hold. But He said nothing, instead only content to hold her, as she held him yesterday.

How long it took, for her to flush the accumulated misery out of her body, neither youth knew. The wind served a ill-advised watch with its billowing on the window, but each found something in the other's warmth. As Toshiro slowly, slowly released his embrace on her, she found that she kind of wanted him to keep hugging him. Her cheeks felt red at the guilty admittance, and she fought to nip it in the bud.

They now sat on her bed, opposite of each other, face to face. Toshiro, she could see and feel, had not yet let go. His left hand held hers gently.

"…I am sorry." He said finally, an aged breath existing out of him. For a moment, he looked much older than he appeared, if not only in those eyes.

"Sorry? For what?"

"Your mother…and brother."

"You couldn't have done anything, Shiro-Chan. Sheesh. If you think I'm b-bad, you should talk to Yuzu on this."

"Ortiz and the rest wanted me. Ichigo was just in the way."

"Toshiro. If you think its your fault I will slap you."

Silence again reigned. Toshiro cast a simple glance at her, looked at their intertwined hands, and reluctantly let go. He stepped off of the bed, and gave a smirk of reassurance.

"If you need to talk to someone…as long as I can…I will be here still. I will not run from Canopus, but I will not let anything happen to yo-your family." Toshiro stated. His face seemed to blush red at the end, as if he nearly made a mistake.

"Hey, Shiro-Chan?"

He was the door as he turned his head. "Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"…You're welcome."

"Oh, and Toshiro?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we play tomorrow?"

"…Sure."

Toshiro turned, but as if remembering something, he turned back to her. "Karin, If I asked you to smack me, would you?"

At this Karin's face twisted on itself. Smack him? Here? Good Heavens why? "Why would you ask that?"

"Curiosity."

"Toshiro, if you want me to smack you, you gotta pick a place first."

"Face. Smack me on the face."

"…Do you have a death wish? You want _me _to smack _you _on the face?"

"Yes."

"…Foot or fist?" Karin couldn't believe what he was asking, but she got ready to answer.

"…What?"

"Foot or fist? Do you want me to kick you in the face or punch you in the face?"

The color drained out of Toshiro's face, replaced with agitation, as he responded back. "Never mind."

And with that, Karin kept her eyes on the retreating back of the nubile Soul Reaper, disappearing behind the door. Then she smiled, in more than mere gratitude, and hugged herself. Misery dispelled, she found her night-clothes, and decided to prepare for bed.

In the morning, she would have to kick Papa Goat-face's head in.

--

_**Late Night…**_

Unbeknownst to any outside, Matsumoto watched from across the street, as both her duty as a Soul Reaper and her concern for her captain placed her there. While she wouldn't say no to a sake bottle or two, her attention was now drawn exclusively to the Kurosaki household. Though even the most conservative Soul Reaper would remark that this place had its fair share of spiritual episodes, even they would have to admit something was up. Bloodswerth's arrival had been but the first of the diverging maladies, which did not involve either hollows or Soul Reapers. Now, as she watched like a cat, she saw a new figure, unrecognizable to her in either appearance or spiritual pressure, walked sloppily across the street, coming from the east.

He looked harmless from afar, and downright pitiful, from the way his head was lowered, as if analyzing his feet. But, as the streetlight showed, how he could be looking at anything was absurd in itself. The man or boy's head was completely wreathed in a shaggy mess of brown hair. His clothing too, incited pity, as Matsumoto (ever a fashion buff) mentally tore apart the dusty rags that could stringently be called a shirt, vest, and pants, all of the most aged ochre color. Pants snipped to shorts with irregular edges, but the man seemed not to care. His head absently turned and looked around, swaying like a viper, before coming to rest on the doorway to the Kurosaki household. The vagabond fellow stood there briefly, as if straining his eyes to see an address or something, but then walked softly toward the door, stopping only when within arms reach, and reaching out his outstretched hand to caress the door in front.

In truth, Matsumoto was not sure what to make of this, and for now sated herself to watching. The stranger continued merely to massage the door, as if feeling for some secret key in, but finding none. After a while, the man stopped, and walked away from the door, back out to the far sidewalk. He walked purposefully to an already predestined area, it seemed, and Matsumoto noticed an odd tick the man was doing: The man, with his inert, lifeless left hand, was snapping his fingers. On a timed interval, every fourth second, the shabbily dressed man snapped his fingers with perfect timing. Odd mannerism aside, the stranger walked near to his position, took a seat down on the warmed concrete, and looked up at one of the windows of the Kurosaki household.

It registered immediately that it was the _Twins _room that the man's head pointed towards. The odd demeanors of this nightly soiree appeared too weird to be coincidence. Though in Soul Reaper form, Matsumoto had a bad feeling about this. She slowly unsheathed her _zanpaku-to_.

As the blade left its scabbard, the brown-haired man turned his head sharply in her direction, his fingers stopping their metronome. Matsumoto fell into stark silence and immobility. She waited, and exaggerated the removal of Haineko even farther. Eventually, the man turned back to his vigil, and resumed snapping his fingers, though he snapped them now on every third count.

Her blade at the ready, Mastumoto quietly crouched, avoiding threat of detection by leaping the houses. The man seemed to pay no attention, content to snapping his fingers. His right arm, however, had disappeared into the folds of his ochre vest. Eventually, she perched herself on the streetlight just above him, and thanked her luck that he still hadn't noticed. Readying her blade for a fight, she _shun-poed _behind him.

Haineko came to rest on his neck. His fingers stopped snapping instantly.

"Speak. Name and rank, if you have one."

Now up close, Matsumoto could see better the ridiculous mass of brown hair that enveloped his entire head. It tilted slightly, as if considering her, but it just as minutely turned back forward, more concerned with the observation of the household.

"Do you work for Canopus?" The lieutenant-captain blurted out.

The man stopped all movement then, save for his inert left hand, which regained some vigor and retreated to his dirty-vest. After a few moments, the man shook his head.

"Liar!"

The man said nothing, content to continue shaking his head.

"If you are not working for Canopus, then why are you here?"

The man did not give an audible answer, but he did give a noisy one: He growled, like a jaguar at its prey. Irritation coated the noise, and Matsumoto tightened her grip.

"If you try anything, I'll take your head before you can do it."

The stranger only growled again, a bit louder in warning.

"Tell me why you're here, at the Kurosaki household?"

"I told him to." A new voice, coming from the west, interjected. Matsumoto recognized both the polite yet meek timbre of the new arrival, as well as the spiritual pressure-miniscule as it was-accompanying it. As she briefly looked at the interloper, she saw the pink hair, and thin clothing of Takumi Warunabe, walking in a much more dignified fashion than before.

"I should warn you about doing that." Takumi stated. "He does not like being threatened."

"Him?"

"Yes. Him. My brother, Tamashi Warunabe. He does not like that. Could you remove your Haineko from his neck, before he kills you?"

Matsumoto almost interjected such an impossibility, but a quick look told her otherwise. The stranger, now identified as Tamashi in his ochre clothes, had a dirk-like dagger in his right hand, positioned behind him and intending to stab her in the intestines.

"Tamashi. Listen to my voice. There is no need for bloodshed tonight. We have wounded enough Reapers. If she would kindly remove her blade, come to me." Takumi extended his hand outward, and snapped his fingers once. Tamashi, still laying on the ground, nodded once, and pocketed his dirk back into his disgusting-colored clothes. Matsumoto, more curious for information to help her captain, withdrew her saber, but kept it at the ready all the same. As she did so, Tamashi lumbered up like a broken skeleton, his movements awkward and graceless, and his head still lowered down, yet he moved towards his identified, pink-haired brother, without even concern to his surroundings. As Tamashi stood slouched beside his brother, the pink-haired Takumi placed an arm on his shoulders.

"My brother would thank you, if he remembered. He did a favor for Soul Society, anyway, in exchange for sparing me." Takumi explained.

"Favor?"

"The death of 5th Squad captain Sosuke Aizen. My big brother here did that."

The man with his brown-haired crowned head, looked to the side, not even at Matsumoto, but spoke in a gravelly, guttural voice. **"Ai..zen…soft…too soft…brother."**

"Please, Tamashi. You are good, no question about that, but you won because of two reasons. One, you don't care about pain. Two, Captain Aizen relied too heavily on his illusions and was so embroiled in his plans that he simply did not care to see the dangers around him. Overconfidence isn't the best approach." Takumi turned back to the orange-haired Matsumoto, and she was struck by his youth. He couldn't be above his twenties, while his brother was clearly a man.

"Ms. Matsumoto. It is good you're still alive."

"…You all did that?"

"No. Tamashi did it too soon. Aizen was destined to die by Canopus already. Just…Tamashi wanted to show his gratitude for sparing my life. If it is all right with you, Ms. Matsumoto…we will go our own ways."

"I don't think so." Matsumoto warned. "_Growl, Haineko!" _

Her blade erupted into a wisp of ash taking the ambiguous shape of a sword, and raised it with intent to pierce. Neither Warunabe brother moved to flee, however. Instead, it was their faces and body language that told the tale. The younger Takumi frowned, and his hands wringed together in spindles. The elder turned his head sharply up, in her direction, and his hand reached back into his vest once more.

"Ms. Matsumoto…I do not want violence."

**"I want…kill…you…" **

"Brother, please…"

**"Too soft…Taku…mi…Too SOFT!"**

She smirked. Blackmail existed inside her forte. "Ok. Tell me some news."

"N-news? I'm afraid I don't-"

"Where is Canopus?" Matsumoto asked fiercely. "Tell me and I won't engage."

"I wouldn't think of that if I were you." Takumi responded back. His hand had fastened itself to Tamashi's shoulder, who now moved a bit forward.

**"You're too soft! Takumi! Die! She…Die!" **

"Not. Now. Brother." the pink-haired sibling said as strongly as he could. "My brother's getting agitated, and I have no intention of having him turn into a berserker here…Brother, calm down!" The slouched rag of a brother stepped forward, committed to attacking Matsumoto.

"Let him go. I can fight."

"This is the guy who infiltrated YOUR Soul Society, and killed a captain of YOUR court! Do you really want to tempt fate that badly?! Do you?! I will tell you what you want, but for the love of God, do not tempt my brother!!" Takumi implored, desperation all apparent in his voice. He tightened his grip, not caring that he was showing his back to his foe, and tried to psychically calm his maniacal sibling down. Eventually, the shaggy man stopped, his ochre clothing falling inert, and he turned his back, only saying one sentence in his jaguar-tongue.

**"Too soft, little brother…too soft."**

And then he jumped into the trees, mock-_shun-poing _like a seasoned Soul Reaper.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the pink-haired Takumi turned once more to Matsumoto, his young face drenched in sweat. Fear decorated his countenance, and it looked so practice it was frightening in itself.

"Thank God. Thank God."

"You look like you need a drink."

"Maybe later. Not today. Ask your questions, though I already know what you're going to ask."

"You aren't afraid?"

"Of what? Giving information to the enemy? Hmp. We've given you information once already. Ortiz told you about an attack to mislead you before. Hitsugaya almost died, didn't he? This should tell you how arrogance my employer is."

The lieutenant-captain of the 10th division looked at the youth, as he straightened himself up, her blade deactivated from _shikai_. He did not appear to be a combatant; If anything he was a pacifist, to the extreme. But she saw her chance, and so pressed her advantage.

"Where is Canopus?"

"………I can give you the address. It is a tent, with purple and white stripes. Don't go tonight. Gather your forces and come later. Its…501 Nara Street, in…Mashiba. Go there, and you will find the nest."

"…How do you know you're not lying?"

"You don't. Get on with it."

Matsumoto smirked. "Why is Canopus so desperate to get my Captain?"

"…Hitsugaya? I don't know. Kiiromori is the only guy who really knows. Even as a telepath, he's guarded that secret from me, fortifying his mind with riddles. Only one guy really knows, and he's already a basket case to begin with. That is Janus Bloodswerth. But there's a name, that I do not know, that keeps popping up. Someone else in there, a person or thing…and a being called Io-Hildalga. That's all. If you want more, find Bloodswerth."

"That's impossible! I helped kill him myself!"

"Its easy to kill a devil…but difficult to eliminate one." Takumi said enigmatically. His composure seemed to be returning. "Anything else?"

"…Is there anyone else Canopus intends to kill? Like the Captains?"

"Just one. Soi Fong. For reasons I know not, she seems to have incurred an unnecessary wrath."

"And one more thing."

"Shoot."

"Why are you working with them?"

At this Takumi raised his eye brows, obvious even in the dim lights. A hand grazed his brow, and he laughed nervously. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Why should it be obvious for humans to attack Soul Reapers?"

"Touché. I…there was a time when…my brother was human, like you no doubt are. He isn't anymore. That's why I help, heavy-hearted as I am." He flicked his hand, observing the watch on his wrist. "I have to go. I will not engage you, and I have a reason to be here, other than talking to you. I wish you a pleasant night. You see, I met a little girl yesterday that seemed nice enough, so I thought I'd leave her a chance to talk. In every war, there's neutral ground. I seek not agony, unlike my brother, who can only comprehend two things: Mortality and me."

As he spoke, he produced a small playing card, a tarot card the lieutenant captain realized, a marking of a knight holding a cup of some sort. As he walked towards the Kurosaki household, Matsumoto weighed her options. She could attack, but she had some information to report to the Seireitei. Whether he was lying or not, was unsure. However, any information was better than none. The man was harmless as it was, and demonstrated it further by not doing anything out of the ordinary, aside of depositing the tarot card in the door frame.

"All right. Get going. But you owe me."

"Thank you." Takumi meekly responded. He bowed briefly, and walked away, looking briefly at the Kurosaki household, before walking east, into the darkness. Above them, Matsumoto could hear a leaping and landing from tree to tree: Tamashi, the steadfast guardian to his little brother.

Matsumoto looked at the odd pair, and wondered again what exactly what they were all in for.

Maybe a bottle of sake would help out, to take the edge off the night. It would be a long day tomorrow.

--

End Chapter.

Forgive me for the length of time it took to get this out. College is a war of attrition in itself.


	15. Chapter 15: Wonderland's Embrace

**Well…Lets begin. I edited it, as I didn't feel that well about how the chapter turned out. So I hope you enjoy it this time. Reviews are appreciated.**

**Chapter 15: Wonderland's Embrace**

**--**

**August 18****th****…**

Morning came serenely, its aeon-repeated voyage uninterrupted upon the same city that it shone brilliantly the day before. Ever a slave to institutionalized routines, Toshiro had broken this pattern for once: For the time being, as Ichigo was still placed in the hospital, he had been moved to his bed-room (the fact that Rukia resided in his closet had made his hair jump from his scalp, but…) for the duration of his stay. Privacy suited his needs, for when he was assaulted by Matsumoto this morning, with information to bear, he was exceedingly grateful for the absence of nosy-bodies. Protocol dictated in his head that he report this startling tidbits to his superiors, and with quick action (as well as some fruitful usage of a memory modifier for the neighbors), Toshiro and Matsumoto managed to get their LCD-sized communicator inside the cramped room of Ichigo's.

Being the novice among the Gotei 13, Toshiro had never seen Shigekuni Yamamoto irate, over anything: The old man always portrayed a gentle, albeit sometimes stern countenance about him as he went about his business. The calm that this man exuded was practically necessary, as when you combined the unpredictable personalities of the Gotei 13-Ichimaru's aplomb amusement, Zaraki's hawking eagerness, Kurotsuchi's amoral scientific expeditions, Unohana's temporary voyage's into killing intent, Soi Fong's obsessions (And don't even get started on the Visoreds). For a time, Toshiro wondered if Yamamoto had ever allowed his rage to get the better of him before this whole episode…which he quickly revised his statement after realizing that dealing with _Kyoraku _would incite rage even in the most patient man.

Of course, this was before Canopus. The tenth captain perhaps had been lucky, being well out of earshot…but he had learned what Matsumoto had, and from that, the whole of Soul Society was able to form their own stratagems. Admittedly, he was distracted, but…

Having encountered the Seven-Sealed Devil three times already, he had anticipated fighting the tuxedoed albino a fourth. He had _not_ expected the Warunabe brothers to turn up at the Kurosaki doorstep, each with their own unsaid agenda, as the family slumbered. He had expected even less that the younger Warunabe, the pink-haired Takumi, to actually divulge so much so willing, on such a small trade off. According to Matsumoto, Takumi had given the information almost desperately, as if to avoid inviting his brother into a fight. Common sense simply did not form the pieces, here, as if Tamashi Warunabe killed a Captain, and called it a favor, why would the younger brother stop him from engaging then? Toshiro was a sitting duck at the time, and couldn't have defended himself from a raging inferno like this elder brother apparently was. If his elimination was so important to their mission, why did these two, close as they had been, held off?

The tenth captain had noticed four operatives of persistence and power among Canopus, though two others had yet to appear to any Soul Reaper eyes: Bloodswerth, whom he presumed dead; Ortiz, who had yet to be sighted, and the two Warunabe bros. Of the later two…while Ortiz and Bloodswerth had obviously wanted him or his comrades dead, these two were conflicting in their methods. Takumi Warunabe did not engage at all during the fight in Mashiba some days ago, according to Matsumoto, and even encouraged Matsumoto and Ayasegawa to flee the scene to save his life. Tamashi, however, as reported by Kira, mercilessly and silently infiltrated the Seireitei, and was not found out until he slaughtered Aizen. How he did it was unknown, save what had been gleaned from the cadaver: Massive lacerations and impaling holes, made from seemingly countless knives. While this would indicate Tamashi was a missile weapon master, this did not explain how a _blind man _could so this, to a captain, with such ferocious accuracy and very little spiritual pressure.

He had received this from two captains; Yamamoto and Kurotsuchi. The former had been stolid, while the latter had been the picture of excitement, as if curious to place this berserker on an operating table. Berserker indeed was the most appropriate term to describe this supposedly-blind man (no one had seen his eyes yet to verify, so it was only on his brother's testimony that they followed), as he appeared to be just a few breaths shy of diving into sweltering fury. Only Takumi seemed capable of controlling Tamashi, based on the lone encounter so far.

However, a person with pink-hair easily distinguished himself in a crowd. Buying on the fact that this young man was a non-combatant, it fell to Rukia Kuchiki to find and interrogate him; However, by the end of the 18th, this had proved nigh-impossible and down-right dangerous. For, as if aware of his own vulnerability, Takumi ventured nowhere without Tamashi's bowed head and slumped gait lagging behind. As abandoned without her powers as Captain Hitsugaya was, she instinctively kept her distance, monitoring the actions of the pink-haired telepath. His mannerisms were benign entirely, completely contradictory to what one may suspect from a zealot intent on destroying the Seireitei (this is implied, not verified). He would merely wander the streets, and return to the address that he gave to Matsumoto, the blind elder brother trailing behind.

Speaking of the address, it had been quite ironic, as both Hitsugaya and Karin had been there once already. Given the chaos that had turned out on that particular day (August 4th), with the Seven-Sealed Devil arriving out of nowhere, one could call it understandable. The festival that attended for the month…its main locale was where the Warunabes situated themselves. Indeed, both of them actually worked in the carnival, though their positions made one easier to notice than the other: Tamashi would man one of the booths, as Rukia noticed (one of the few times he was not in his brother's shadow), while Takumi periodically bounced from place to place, switching and becoming lost in a myriad of masks. Given that three of the four operatives were located near the festival grounds (inert in the day and active in the night), a fool could calculate this was the place to investigate. Another factor that only strengthened the suspicion was the emblem of a horse head, marked on the tents and booths. There were also, as Rukia noticed, several more giant black boxes, identical to the kind the behemoth Ortiz used in his decoy attack.

The truth dawned and yawned upon the collective minds of the Gotei 13. These upstarts, these wanton destroyers, used this circus as a buffer and a base for their operations…though whether or not the masquerading workers served as allies or remained obvious to the inner workings had yet to be verified. Rukia was unable to find out anything else, for by then, her steps were dogged by the blind Tamashi (again, exactly how he functioned in the outside world without the benefit of sight escaped the reason of the Gotei 13) and thus she had to abandon her reconnaissance mission.

However, the information gathered served them well. Yamamoto moved on this, resolving to nip the problem in the bud with a quick surge: Toshiro was set to meet the force on the morning of the 19th (he, in concordance, was to play hooky for this avenue). However, whether he was actually going to play a part in the attack was left up in the air: He was still without his powers, and he still was their primary target. For now, he served a guide.

Admittedly, he really wasn't sure how this whole affair was going to happen, as Yamamoto did not tell him the members of this team, still in a smoldering anger. When asked what to do if Kiiromori was found (no pictures of the man had yet to be produced), the old man left his anger to suggestion, stating that if he lived, he wanted first shot.

Toshiro did not press the issue.

To be honest with himself, he found a number of incidents a bit distracting for his tastes. For starters, though guilty and pleasured by it, there was Karin. A sliver of dread had long planted itself in his heart, for he felt so much at peace in the raven-haired girl's company. He constructed comparisons in his psyche, and yet he found them off-balance. He would stray outside of her shadow, and then gravitate almost unconsciously back towards her. His hand longed for warmth not manifest of flame, but of a certain touch of skin. More and more, amidst the chaos he lived under, amidst Isshin's heckling, Yuzu's motherly habits, and Karin's teasing, he felt willingly grafted to this family of maniacs. And the frightening part of it all? He did not want to be released from this binding. Despite what he knew, despite that eventually, his powers would be restored to his spiritual aspect, and he would be duty-bound to return to the placid, dullard Seireitei…he dreaded going back.

Cold realization waved to him every time he looked in the mirror. His mind combated with his reflection, telling him that it was Momo that he adored, that he enjoyed being with, that he wanted to remain with. He and his shade knew this well, and his reflection nodded like an uncanny senator at the admission. But Momo and Karin were different-Momo elicited warmth and friendship. Karin coaxed enigmatic desire inside of his heart, and like a magnet…he could not resist. He did not _want_ to resist. And yet…he scolded himself for it.

Staring at himself in that mirror, Toshiro had his own revelation to make. That, all things considered, he genuinely enjoyed being with Karin. Though he wanted the No questions asked. Why…he did not know. He could not place a single discernable reason why he felt like this, couldn't even label what _this _was. That did not change that _it _was there, inside of him, like some smothering cloud, and like some puppet master pulling the strings…it imposed fleeting impulses on his mind, that he had no idea of.

His reflection blushed at him, awkward and uncertain, as he fastidiously finished dressing himself for the day-another of Ichigo's borrowed, kiddy clothes, this a simple banded shirt of green and appropriate sized pants. The internal puzzle clicked and clacked, all round the ribcage of his heart, and he tried (regrettably) to push that conundrum away. Skipping school indeed would be a task, but it was not one he wasn't up to.

"Damn it." Toshiro muttered sullenly, remembering an important factor. "I was going to play with Karin today." His lips pursed up in irritation that his duty came before his desire, unexpectedly…maybe he could convince Karin to skip class with hi-His reflection shook its head at the thought. He might be able to get out, but it was unlikely both of them would.

As he struggled with his conflicting interests, he heard a knock at the door below. Curious (as it might have been his lieutenant), he let the patriarch Isshin answer, though he could not tell the voice of the other fellow. He could make out a few words, like "two" and "blind", before he received a resounding bellow that cut any need for eavesdropping.

"HITSUGAYA!! YOU HAVE A VISITOR!!"

The snow-peak captain visibly reeled from the lung-powered shout, and found his way downstairs. It seemed illogical for Matsumoto to revisit him so quickly, but then again, perhaps it was the envoy that Yamamoto prepared. If so, the old captain's sheer speed preceded him. He scanned for spiritual pressure, but he found little potency, suggesting a Gigai. But he also found that it was one person. Perhaps a single captain to meet, while the others prepare?

Toshiro mired into his thoughts so deeply that he failed to analyze the young man standing across the threshold. It was his polite, youthful voice that drew him out.

"Good Morning, Mr. Hitsugaya. I trust you slept well?"

"Yeah, yeah-huh? Who the hell are you?"

Who stood before Toshiro now was not a Soul Reaper that he had ever seen before, certainly not a captain by that regard. In fact, he knew innately that this was not a Soul Reaper at all. His clothes bleached white as his hair, his face unmarred and handsome in glamorous youth, and his body otherwise weedy, and suggesting that he skipped breakfast…these attributes jumped out at the youngest captain, but they were sub-par to the hair. Long like fellow captain Ukitake, but a ridiculously neon pink: Toshiro suspected he stood out in a crowd, and at that final, cardinal feature, he knew exactly who this was.

The fellow's eyes probed him briefly, before lowering his hands to his pockets. "You don't trust me." It wasn't a question.

"No."

"You know who I am." Again, a clarified statement, which Toshiro had already deduced.

"Yeah."

"I would like to talk to you. Do you have a moment?"

"…."

"Uh…I know this looks weird, and you want to…well, kill me right now."

"Damn right."

The pink-haired youth-obviously the Takumi Warunabe that Matsumoto had spoken about-gave a sigh of exasperation as he surveyed the whole room. He smiled for no apparent reason, and turned back to Toshiro himself. "My brother is going to look for me, if I dawdle too long. Please. I mean you no harm, and besides, I'm here for another reason."

"Like what?" Toshiro's voice formed icicles as he spoke. He had every reason to be untrusting of this man, an operative of Canopus. Just because he didn't show any combat abilities did not mean that he was harmless.

"Yuzu Kurosaki does live here, so…I wanted to…you know…"

Toshiro felt his eyebrow twitch, as the pink-haired youth struggled to spit out what he was going to say. His foot tapped the floor in impatience. Eventually, his patience lost itself amidst the growing frustration, and Toshiro spoke.

"Why the hell do you need to see her?"

"She seems to be a nice girl. I wanted to show her around."

"And how did you even meet her?"

"Through brothers. She has one. I have one. Obviously you haven't met Tamashi, though I'm sure a friend of a friend of yours has. Tell me, how's Hinamori?"

The last question struck a cord, and his hand instinctively reached for the _zanpaku-to _that he had lost weeks ago. He only stopped his instinct when his dominant hand grasped over vacant air.

"Ha he. I see the Devil still has a hold on you. Look, I'm not here to fight. If I was, It'd be Tamashi that answered the door and-oh, hello Miss Yuzu." His demeanor from haggard to genteel was so urbanely done Toshiro had to mentally applaud it. Behind the 10th captain, sure enough, was the fairer-haired sibling, the motherly Yuzu, dressed with the preparation of tending home. She was clothed as one could draw from a home-sitting worker, apron and spatula in hand, and her mouth was partially open, perhaps about to call Toshiro and her family to breakfast.

"Mr…Warunabe?"

"Uh…yeah. I didn't mean to, uh…Well this is embarrassing." The supposed telepath struggled out. Ambivalence as exactly what to do aligned on his face, and he rubbed his brow to reflect that indecision. Sighing once more, he motioned back to the matter at hand. " Could you excuse us for a moment?" His words were simple, but Yuzu received the message easy, and went back to her habits. Oh, yes, uh…Mr. Hitsugaya…I was going to give this to you later, but…I guess the early bird gets the worm. A fellow told me to give this to you, through my brother."

"Did your brother see-"

"He's _blind_." Takumi flatly responded. "He couldn't have seen who wrote it. He just told me that I was supposed to give it to you. If he found you…well, lets not go into descriptive adjectives, alright."

The pink-haired youth resolved to no other word, instead picking up a rectangular object from the front step: the snow-haired captain recognized it as some sort of card, though he could not tell exactly what the symbols on it were. He noticed a second object slip from it, a second greeting card, fall into his lithe hands, this one which he extended to the youngest captain, leaning but never placing his legs across the Kurosaki threshold. Expectant of something else other than an altruistic messenger, Hitsugaya nevertheless snagged the papers out of his hand.

"I see you have school, so I will leave you be. Please, if its suits your sense of concern, one of those goes to Miss Yuzu, though I will meet her after school. You obviously are awaiting your advance guard."

"…You're reading my mind aren't you?"

"I guess I am." He responded with a smile, before walking away, his long mane of pink hair flowing with his momentum. Toshiro himself found it rather bothersome, but he turned back to the card meant for him. Respecting Yuzu's privacy, he turned it on his hand, and opened the card meant for him.

His face drew itself in a disbelieving scowl, for it had to be a prank. The letters, eloquently drawn, and so familiar…After processing exactly what it inscribed, he crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it aside. He had absolutely no want or need for foolishness, even if the messenger meant well.

The letter had said: "morituri te salutamus." A jumble of letters that held no meaning, and nothing more.

--

_**August 18**__**th**__**, Mashiba, The Kurosaki Vehicle, afternoon…**_

His time in the real world spoiled him. Karin deduced that with a giggle on his changing behaviors.

Willpower was in abundance in Karin Kurosaki's head, though she dared not say the same for her dad, flinching in exaggerated gestures behind the steering wheel of the car. She could grasp to patience (a rare trait indeed for an eleven year old kid), but she wondered briefly how wise it is for a clinician to have an absence of that particular trait. Will power was needed to focus. As she had that in abundance, she seemed to lose some of it in the presence of a certain, aloof Soul Reaper captain. Why he had suddenly changed his mind, choosing instead to go with her and her father rather than wait...it did not so much bother her as it did puzzle her. Karin enjoyed his company, surly and aloof as he may be in the presence of the third person, but she would be lying to herself if she did not admit she enjoyed vicariously his attention. When asked, Toshiro only said that "his spiritual pressure was so messed up that anyone could find him, no matter where he went." She said nothing to change his mind.

When asked if Matsumoto had come as well, Toshiro responded back that "He sent her elseware."

Though everyone had heard of the incident at Mashiba, Karin herself did not know the true extent of the damage. Those who remained blissfully unaware believed it to be a casualty of gang warfare, her daddy among those masses. While her daddy and other students talked in combined worry and concern, Karin held the clarified truth. Honestly, who would believe her? Mentioning an assassin that wants to kill your house-guest for no apparent reason other than base entertainment would be condemned to the vivid imaginings of a child (as such she was). Come to think of it, everything about the soul reapers, the monsters called hollows…all of that would easily be discounted.

But she knew the truth, the real reason so much damage had been incurred to the central zone of Mashiba, and thus the trickling effect of their situation. She knew already about the monster Ortiz, and with a passion reserved for the devil she felt a carcinogenic hate for the behemoth. It was only natural, given her rather combative personality, that she smother her sadness with sheer, wistful brutality, but still, the truth slapped her earthen face several times…though she had brought her new _zanpaku-to _with her, she had not illusions of defeating this monster that attacked her brother. The fact he was partially responsible for the damage caused did not escape her. She just never knew the real extent of the onslaught until now.

Peering over the windshield from her place in the backseat, Karin likened their position to being stuck in a mud-hole. Almost directly in front of them were a collection of construction workers, toiling away in the setting sun with gradually increasing speed. Burly men in orange hard hats shouted to each other, their coarse language muted by the sealed car windows and the myriad, mechanical disconcordance outside. Almost all of them carried the disdain and fatigue expected of employees of their profession, with the sweat glistening off their calloused, dirty skin. Their boots whined as they leapt about as crickets, relaying their bodies from reports on the concrete to operation of goliath equipment. Karin could spot a bulldozer, a collection of east-bound freight-trucks, and a gangly fork-lift, all canary yellow and huffing their own haggard breaths of carbon monoxide to match their fellow workers, amidst the kicking clouds of defiant dust. Some men decided against the advances of technology together, and instead of relying on the fork-lift, the bulldozer, and the convoy of trucks, took to the impromptu valley made by their machinery with shovels and picks and bags, each a vital link in the chain of action. The shovels hoisted the powdery dirt out, the picks chipped away at fragments of disturbed concrete, and the bags served as malleable coffins for these grey-stone fragments. In front of this whole medley of heavy-duty infrastructural maintenance, a lone figure garbed in a hunter-orange vest and pants now the color of dirt stood. In his hand a single, octogan-shaped size was hoisted, revealing the universal traffic signal to stop. Either his hard hat or the remising cloud of dust obscured his face, but Karin could figure enough from it all: red-faced from the sun, beard-growing from lack of shaving, some cuts and burns here and there, and all around the countenance of miserable men.

In front of her Isshin appeared restless: His daughter could mirror that, though in a rather subdued fashion. They did not hold anger for the men: they simply were doing their jobs. However, both were anxious to see Ichigo, the fact he was catatonic irrelevant at the moment. Toshiro also wanted to extend his condolences once more, as could be expected. The remodeling of the road, as per the damage of the Mashiba incident, failed to bolster their patience, and only served as a means of agitation.

"Dad."

"Yes, my darling Karin-Chan?"

"You know how long this is gonna take?"

Isshin flicked his beefy wrist, revealing his watch. "Its 4:20 now. We've been here for 15 minutes. Is little Karin bor-" His mouth ate his words as his daughter promptly punched him in the back of the head.

"Why're they here, now?"

"Well, Karin, these are working men…they have their duties…"

Annoyed with his doting, she sunk into a new level of agitation. Vaguely she cursed Toshiro, perhaps for getting wind of this, and not going with her as a result.

_Nah…that's not it._

Isshin, perhaps aware of his daughter's decreasing patience, took steps to ameliorate the issue. As a father that would prefer to spoil his children and grandchildren when he attained them, the bearded man rolled down his window, and motioned to the stoic man holding the stop sign. As if waking from his boring job, the proletariat made his way over to the clinician, lowering his head to Karin's vantage point. Now with the dust removed, she could see his face; Indeed, it was a calloused portrait, with a thick jaw and scarred cheeks, and even a black eye. He kept his hard hat low, and shouted genially. The rumble of the construction equipment caused more than its fair share of ear-splitting howls, and it was all both her daddy and the construction worker could do to hear each other.

"Aye. Whatcha want?"

"Good afternoon! I wanted to know how long you'd be working at…what are you doing, anyway?"

"Hey, whatcha been doin, eh? Sleeping under a rock or something this past week? The local government's had to close down this area here for the past week, since everything got busted up. We just got here from north in Nara, and I tell ya, it ain't easy. I don't believe that bits of news, saying that-"

"WHAT?"

"I SAY, I SAY NOW-" The man shouted back, "THAT WE JUST GOT STARTED TODAY!"

"BUT HOW LONG-"

"WE'LL BE WORKING ON THIS ROAD TILL MORNING! WON'T BE READY 'TIL THEN, HEAR ME?"

"WHAT?"

"I SAY, CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?!"

"YEAH! I'D BUY YOU A BEER NOW, IF YOU LET ME BY!"

Karin slapped her forehead at the lack of communication; this factor did not in the least go unnoticed by the foreman, who shook his head, and turned to the workers in front.

"HEY!! CAN YA PULL THE PLUG FOR A MOMENT!!" He bellowed over the cacophonic, mechanical mayhem. One of the workers, a shovel-master, noticed the roar, and motioned to his fellows. The fellows in the asphalt pit in turn, gestured at the live fork-lift nearby, and made the 'cut-throat' sign. A moment later, the driver shut it off, but not before throwing out a rather rude, non-verbal gesture.

"Thanks, ya lazy bums." The foreman replied. "Now I can friggin' talk." The red-faced traffic man took to her daddy again. "As I was sayin', we're gonna be working here past midnight, so we cannot let ya by."

"But I need to get to the hospital!"

"Why?" He looked inside the cab of the car, his eyes secretively moving under his hard hat, so as Karin could only get the briefest of glimpses. "This here yer daughter? She look fine to me."

"My _son _is in the hospital."

"Ah…I see. Cause of this, eh? I got one butched up from this pretty bad too, from those gang-breakers. Well…" The man turned, assuming a thinking pose that could be labeled a caricature, and for a moment, Karin swore she could see a gleam in his eye. "Hold on. Yer…Isshin Kurosaki, right?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, for you, I may have a solution. I heard you helped a buddy of mine out, so I'll return the favor."

"What was his name?" Karin heard her daddy ask. The red-faced, dirt-covered man, however, did not appear to hear her. Instead, he muttered on.

"I don't know how ya missed the detour back there-"

Here her father's face scrunched up, "What do you mean detour, there wasn't anything saying you people were here!"

Again the sizable supervisor ignored him. "-but maybe I can sort out two problems in one trick. Ya see, I got a lazy bum over here, big and stupid and too busy taking cigar breaks, no interest in authority…and I can't get him to shovel for beans. So…I tell ya want I'll do. I could get more work done if I get this guy out of sight. So, how 'bout I send him with you guys as an escort? You get to yet kid in the hospital, and I get this guy outta my hair for a while? I'm think close to seein' that he gets the boot, and the boys are complainin' and all."

Karin wasn't sure what to make of this unorthodox deal; neither apparently was her daddy, who voiced it a bit better. "Is he…you know...."

"Bad? Naw. Talks a lot 'bout his time in the army-he's a foreigner and all. I don't care, but I thinks he's from France. If he's too lazy I want him gone. I'll call whatever hospital you're heading to-"

"Karakura Hospital."

"Ah. Yeah. I'll call there in an hour-in-a-half, and if you guys aren't there, I'll call the damn police."

Isshin reached over and tried to cover Karin's ears as he swore. "Thank you for helping but please, do not soil my daughter's ears! I already have one delinquent in my family, mister…"

"Heh. Hajime Rokuro. Of Shishi Construction. We cleaners with fangs." The Foreman-Rokuro-said, flashing a cheesy thumbs-up as he spoke. He extended his hand, and shook it with her father. "Hope yer son comes out ok."

"And I hope your son recovers, and populates the world with your grandchildren!"

"Ah ha! That'd be rich! Hold a tick. HEY KEEP SHOVELIN'!" Rokuro shouted, his face becoming redder with volume. "OSRIC! WHERE'S ORTEGA!"

One of the bagmen (apparently Osric) looked up, a look of perplexity on his face. "Don't you mean Ort-"

"I MEAN ORTEGA! GET THE NAME RIGHT! WE GOT AN ESCORT THROUGH YELLOW WOODS ROAD RIGHT HERE!! GET ORTEGA'S LAZY KEESTER OVER HERE!!"

"Oh!, uh…gotcha!" The smaller man disappeared, retreating to behind the fork-lift. A moment later the largest man Karin had ever seen stepped out from behind yellowed piece of heavy equipment. The screen of dust failed miserably to hide his girth, but as he walked (or stomped) nearer, Karin could make out some rather inconspicuous traits of the 'lazy bum'. For starters, aside of his skyscraper like height that towered even over Ichigo's friend Chad, he didn't wear a hard hat at all, instead settling for a rather large fedora, like what they wore in detective movies. Also, though fall was on its way, he wore mittens over his hands…again, whether those hands were in proportion to the rest of his gigantic physique was another matter, but Karin could see a small cigar wrapped in the folds of the sewn fingers. A massive trenchcoat, possibly being sized for a dinosaur than a man, wrapped up his broad body, laced together not with one but two shawls at the waistline, and covered completely his legs from view. Not that his feet interested her, but she noticed that with each step the giant took, he left a new indention in the crumbling asphalt.

The foreman's face lit up in humorous rage. "Ortega! I swear if I catch you smokin' on the job when we got work to do-"

"Easy, kiddo."

"Kiddo!? KIDDO!? A freakin' marine gives as much as he-"

"Shut up, Hajime. Whatcha want?" Karin could sense something unusual about the man's voice, whose prodigious body towered over their small car. Beside her, the silent Hitsugaya took first notice of the behemoth man, and his eyes cast almost a cat-like awareness...Karin recognized that look in his eyes before, witnessed on both times he fought Janus Bloodswerth.

"These folks here need an escort. You ain't doing nothing but getting lung cancer-"

"I _can't _get cancer, Hajime." The giant demonstrated his apathy by taking another puff of his cigar.

"You sonova-"

"Easy, kiddo. 'Ere's kids in the car." Gloating laughter scorned his accent, and he stomped loudly towards the car door. "Whaddya need me t'do?"

"These folks need an escort! Through Yellow Woods Road, remember? We gotta _detour _there? Need one after today, with that kid in the ICU getting abducted and all…"

Karin craned her head slightly to see Ortega toss his cigar into the foreman's face. Ortega's own face, interestingly, was well hidden, by his wide-brimmed fedora. "Yeah, yeah…I hear ya. Now shut up. I'll get the truck."

The man lowered his head down, and looked in. At this, with his equally large head looking from the opening, Karin could see that even more dressing had been applied. A large bandana had been wrapped around everything below the eyes. But he had normal blue eyes, peering in with a tinge of apathy.

"Howdy……healthy kiddos ya got 'ere. Can' figure why yer goin', but…what the hell. Follow me."

Her father smiled, gracious to finally get things moving…but as the giant stomped his elephantine bulk away from them, and the foreman Hajime Rokuro returned to his duties, Karin felt like she smelt a rat. Toshiro materialized even a stronger reaction: His body stiffened at the unusual accent of the man, and his eyes narrowed to reptilian slits. His hands reached for a cell-phone, and furiously his fingers punched at the buttons. She could not place it, for she wasn't getting that same feeling she felt when it came to the presence of hollows…but the bad feeling remained, all the same.

She kept her words to herself, her eyes on the aroused Toshiro, as he watched the giant with unblinking accuracy. Her daddy got the car turned around, humming a tune all the way. Ahead of them, the giant Ortega had commandeered an 18-wheeler, and was driving in onward…

_**Mashiba, Northbound....**_

The clocks struck 4:25 P.M. as Yuzu followed behind the gangly young man, who had so courteously and mysteriously offered to help them. Looking at them all, they formed a rather odd group. In front, Takumi, a few years older than Ichigo by her guess, walked forward with loping steps, while she followed close behind. Behind them both, she could hear the jerky twitching of his older brother, the blind Tamashi. Even in a subtle movement as straightening his head, she could hear him. She pitied the man, for what he seemed to become.

They seemed to draw their fair share of attention as they walked about, just leaving Urahara Shoten and now heading northward. Yuzu had confessed she wanted to look at some new dresses, to which Takumi had no problem with (In fact, he added he should buy some new clothes for his brother). In hindsight, it was perhaps a wise idea to leave, lamentable as it was. Yuzu wanted to spend time with Jinta and Ururu, perhaps play some games with them, and introduce Takumi to them. Unfortunately, his strange brother seemed to incur a rather unusual reaction from Mr. Urahara and Mr. Tessai. Though he was blind by his brother's word, the man practically gazed for minutes at a time, not altering his stance at the shopkeeper. Mr. Urahara lost his laughable grin at the silent brother, and returned it with a mean glare of his own.

Takumi dispelled the matter with a quick leave.

Yuzu realized they were in a commercial section of Mashiba, southeast to where the gang attack had taken place. The roads were lined with various novelty stores for expendable commodities. She held her breath in wonder at the products in the windows as they passed: Petite and unique treasures, toys and dolls and marionettes and jewelry…worth all what emotional energy the buyer expended on them. She also noticed on the other side of this particular store to be rafe with various clothing, also in bright pastels.

Takumi looked inside as well. "Hmm. Topaz or amber? He always liked those bright or muddy colors..."

Tamashi growled behind them.

"I know, I know. Miss Yuzu, I'm afraid I'm unfamilar with these types of fashions..."

"Well, Takumi...I can see why."

"What? My white get-up?"

"You look like a ice-cream saleman."

The pink-haired man laughed at the assertion. "That's good. But, I prefer uniqueness to the mainstream."

"Does Tamashi?"

"No. He doesn't care what he wears."

"Have you asked?"

"He never gives me a legible answer."

Yuzu brightened at this and approached the stranger brother. "Mr. Tamashi?"

The vagrant-looking Tamashi, garbed in a hideous ochre-colored cloth that screamed out poverty, whipped his head to acknowledge her.

"Um...what kind of clothes would you like to wear?"

Interpretation of his facial expression was utterly impossible thanks to the brown mane hiding his face. Instead of offering a precise answer, the Elder Warunabe allowed his head to drift slightly. After a moment of further debate, he lowered his hand, and looked around simply, as if expecting a stalker. Seeing no one of interest, he sighed in resignation.

"Mr. Tamashi? Please, just because your blind-" Yuzu extended her hand to brush his hair away, as if to open his eyes to a glassy void.

Like a trained reflex, Tamashi answered not with words. The moment her fingers brushed his dirty, nappy threads of brown, a hand lunged out and grabbed her at the elbow. He emitted a warning growl, as if his strong reaction was not enough.

"Brother." Takumi calmly stated.

The elder brother growled in response, releasing Yuzu's arm in acknowledgement. Yuzu herself, though shocked as she was, was not deterred.

"Miss Yuzu, my brother lost his sight ten years ago. He doesn't remember what colors look like anymore. He couldn't name fashion back then any way...I'll just choose something at random."

"Mr. Tamashi...what's your favorite color?"

Agitation cloaked the man's mannerisms, frustration taking hold of him as one of his hands reached through his tattered hair. **"I don't remem…ber. Colors…what did they look like? Someday..."**

"You don't remember what they look like...I can describe them for you...if you want." Yuzu said a bit too hopefully.

Reaching her hand out again, Yuzu cautiously took his slender, muscled arm, and placed it on her own head. "This is yellow."

**"Yellow..." **The voice in the vagrant said. **"Blonde..."**

"Miss Yuzu, what are you-?"

Yuzu motioned for his quiessence. She moved his hand to her jacket, a baby blue in color. "This is blue."

His hands felt on her shoulder, probing slightly, as she looked for another object. Before she could, however, the blind vagrant spoke.

**"I...Orange...What does that look like?"**

"Lets go inside...I can show you." Yuzu offered. "Come with me."

The man didn't seem to hear her. Instead, he looked past her, at his brother. **"You're too soft, Takumi...too soft..."**

"Tamashi, I'm not like-"

**"I'd like to feel what that color looks like. Give me...give me...give me a...a...a..." **The man started furiously shaking his head as if in agitation, and he pulled his hand back from Yuzu's. **"Brother....hehehehehe..."**Above her Yuzu could practically sense the man smiling, under that mask of hair. **"Brother told me, told me, told me, told me!...little Dragon of Ice…would be here…All now. I got Ai…zen…now I got-"**

"Tamashi!" Takumi shouted. Yuzu, left in the dark as she was noticed how the blind brother walked away from them both, his head aimed in the sky.

"Mr. Takumi, why...?"

The pink-haired man's face was almost tragic. "I told you, he's damaged in more places than just his eyes. Its a fate I'd never wish on even my enemies...stuck in a void for so long...Yuzu...come inside. My brother will be fine."

"But...won't he hurt himself?"

"Again...If he cannot see his wounds...I don't he cares." Takumi opened the door to the shop, as his brother wandered away from them, hypnotized by something in the sky.

Yuzu looked back at Tamashi. He laughed, his giggle a throaty sneer, and his unequipped fist rapidly pounded into his own skull as if facing his own dementia. Yuzu found Takumi's inaction callous, but she realized he was keeping her from his brother.

**"All coming…All coming…Dragon…I see you. Its time to party,**** Fujinai Yabanuta!" **

He ran away from them, Yuzu catching his disappearance behind a series of buildings. Takumi carefully maneuvered her inside.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_The Kurosaki Car...._**

"Something's up." Toshiro muttered beside her.

Karin stirred briefly, painfully, jumping forward suddenly. Her head exploded into a migraine befitting a workaholic father, while her heart rushed and practically rammed into her sternum. Reason could not be unplumbed, but she felt a sickening sensation, similar to what she felt in the midst of hollows. Her hand stretched to her mouth as a safety hatch, while the other placidly rested on her flat stomach. Vaguely, she fantasized a scenario-if Toshiro had been in some accident-which was unlikely. She worried enough about him, and he was next to her now, but if she found out he had been hurt, she'd stick her new _zanpaku-to _so far up someone's-

_Wait a minute…I can't be bugged over it that much…_

Violence had always been her tool, though never severe enough to warrant sadism. The darker-haired twin bit her lip all the same, suffering her own bout of precognition…for she could not shake the fact that something had happened.

"Papa Goat-Face, where are we going?"

Isshin brightened up behind the steering wheel. "We'll be at the hospital in no time, Karin-chan! Soon, if you need to, you can fling yourself upon your inert bro-"

Karin silenced her father with a spare notepad from the back, smacking him on his Easter-Island face without politeness. The reaction that she internally prophesized passed without deviation, as he bawled at the "youthful rebellion of his dear sweet misguided daughter". She contented herself to stew, her skinny arms forming a shield over her heart, as they traveled behind the gargantuan, blue-metal eighteen-wheeler…housing their escort. Karin did not care a lick about what the habits of this man were: she just wanted to see her Ichi-nii, a desire hampered by this construction crew that literally popped out of nowhere. Though there was still that nagging sensation as to exactly why this man would be garbed up for the breadth of winter in the throes of summer…

_I wonder how Shiro-Chan would deal-_ Karin felt her eyes widen involuntarily, surprised at the invasive, interloping thoughts, all concerning a certain houseguest of hers. She nearly slapped herself in the forehead, halted only by the presence of her dad. _No…I don't think of Toshiro like that…even though his hair's pretty cool…and he's got good looking ey-_

At that point Karin actually slapped herself. Toshiro cast an inquisitve gaze at herm but thankfully, her father did not notice, his meaty face directed toward the road. Idly he chattered out "I don't remember a Yellow Woods Road, around here…"

His daughter picked up on his speculation: They had weaved through the various city blocks, and had come upon a road vacant of commercial and construction obstructions. Karin could not see either houses reserved for the living nor businesses meant for the government on either side of this road, populated instead by a lonely bluff on the left and a mess of rebellious trees on the right. How this was going to lead them back to the north end of Mashiba, to the hospital, bothered Karin internally while it perturbed her father outwardly. For the most part, they could still see the giant arm of the lazy worker, his hand idly hanging outside the window hole.

Then, he raised his hand at a 90-degree angle, his mitten-laced hand covered in a ball. The two Kurosakis noticed the peculiarity of this tried-and-true hand signal, until they noticed the rotations of the tire-armada begin to slow, and pull off to the side of the road. Curious, the father and daughter emulated the act in their small car.

Without fanfare, as both vehicles came to an abrupt stop, the giant Ortega jumped out, creating a thud as he did so. In one of his mittens cradled yet another cigar…the other mitten, for his left, had been cast aside, with the arm now conspicuously hidden behind his girth. As he took a drag from his cigar, he turned unusually his back to his 'cargo'.

"What the crap is he doing?"

Isshin, also annoyed but better at hiding it, lowered his window and stuck his head out to speak. "Hey! What're you doing?!"

"Smokin'. I lovva good cigar," came back the loud drawl.

"Aren't you going to take us to the hospital? Mr. Ortega?"

The man guffawed suddenly and loudly, as if hearing a good joke. "My name's not Ortega. Its…Ortiz."

Karin's eyes widened at the familiarity of the name. Those same midnight-black eyes expanded even further, as Ortiz showed his uncovered arm: A gaunt, skeletal thin, blue-metal appendage, with four-rotating blades surrounding it.

"Good-bye, my love. Hello, Vietnam."

Karin's mind processed it all as tunnel-vision, to which she cut it down like a movie projector. She saw a cyan-light manifest in that cylindrical space from the rotating blades, hoisted up as if a gun. She saw the light leave its source, forming some blue ball of energy, and barreling at the car like a bullet. She saw her father react almost instantly kicking the door open, removing his seatbelt, and pulling hers off as well. And she heard the energy ball slamming into the motor of their car, inciting an explosion which rocked their heads back into painful collision. She could feel and hear flames, and the car horn blaring, as she groggily tried to remove the mental cobwebs. Blurry her vision became, and she thought, through the infantile flames, she could see the giant, the one responsible for her brother's condition-Ortiz, the metallic behemoth, stomping towards the car, his revolving blaster slowing slightly.

The car was rocked again, as the car engine buckled from a mix of its explosive chemicals. Consciousness was abandoning them both, father and daughter, inside that cab of that car. Vaguely, she could see the car door beside her being wretched off, as if by brute strength…hands grabbed at her, and she could see hear Daddy being grabbed as well…but these were not gloved hands…there were human hands.

A voice cried out. "Karin! Lets go!" Followed by a bellow from Ortiz, some distance back. She was wrenched into the air, she hoisted into the bosom of someone.

Her body faded to unconsciousness then…unknowing to the embrace around her.

**End Chapter.**

**Translations:**

**morituri te salutamus: This translates, in Latin, as "We who are about to die, salute you."**


	16. Chapter 16: Bottomless Rabbit Hole

17

_Author's Note: It has come to my attention that I have acted erroneously concerning the 16__th__ chapter. I thought initially that the statement's of it being a 'half-chapter' were due to its stunted length (I usually write 8000 words per chapter). However, thanks to a close view and the review of Yemi Hikari (Thank you for pointing this out a little more clearly) I saw that the chapter I had placed was my unfinished rough draft chapter. Given the mistake, I now present what was supposed to go-the remade sixth chapter. Forgive me for the mistake._

I do not own BLEACH, as per disclaimer proxy. I do own Canopus and its assorted members, as well as this story. Enjoy.

_**Chapter 16: Bottomless Rabbit Hole:**_

_**August 18th, Late afternoon……**_

Takumi Warunabe fell into an almost somber silence as he walked Yuzu back home, his normally chatty tongue anesthetized with the passing of events that his ESP allowed him to know. Though he realized he should be glad that everything was turning out as the group had planned, it did not fill him with elation. Rather, he merely felt many years older than he was now, and repugnant of himself for keeping secrets. A laughable irony, for he could not help but hear everyone else's secrets, and yet he could not honestly divulge his own. He calculated and ingested the sensory information bombarded into his brain, walking in a silent, loping gait. The preteen girl beside him kept her own quiescence, though this was less of deep semantic cognition, and more for merely appreciated the world around her.

He pitied her for the sorrow Canopus indirectly sought to inflict on her being.

_May God have mercy on me. To remedy my brother, I must…._

There would be no redemption from something as raw in passion as a child. Yuzu Kurosaki would never forgive him for what Kiiromori intended to do to her family-father, sister, brother, and houseguest. Her ignorance and lack of spiritual power were the only justifications that she be spared, and the others rounded up. They only needed three and the captain, after all. Yuzu was the weakest, and by default was excluded. Hence, the reason Takumi occupied her now, while Ortiz and the others did what they had to. He played the deception so unscrupulously and sinisterly that he wondered if self-punishment was not the better road. Alas, he could not die, for in his death, he would leave a whirling demon behind, in the realm of the living.

Tamashi still had not returned to him yet, and the pink-haired psychic was anxious to know why. Little kept his elder brother's attention for long, so what?

"So, Mr. Takumi, what exactly do you do, for a living?"

"I thought I told you, Miss Yuzu, that I worked at the carnival. I am somewhat of a magician." Takumi laboriously drew himself back to the real-world. Yuzu, laden with various shopping bags of clothes that he helped pay, looked at him in childish earnest. "But, I do other things."

"Like what?"

"Well…sometimes, the carnival folk need to entice customers to play the booths. We need a way to erase the nagging doubts. I am employed like that, when I'm not doing my magician act, with my brother. Basically, I use charisma."

"Charisma?"

"I have to act like a celebrity, and reach out and touch people, by their minds, if nothing else. It can be anything from karaoke, to ring-toss, to being that guy over the water-tank that gets splashed."

"What does your brother do?" She continued to speak, as if genuinely interested. Takumi resumed.

"Well, Tamashi can't do much, not just because of his blindness, but because of his…mental stability. You must understand…I tell you what, if you tell me what your brother does, then I shall tell you mine."

Children's curiosity transforms into a rickety juggernaut. To appease that dripping curiosity one does almost anything to sate it. Yuzu's eyes and molding mind told no different. "Ichi-nii's in school right now, but he wants to be a doctor when he gets out." Yuzu's face fell slightly, as she remembered the condition that her brother was currently in, and thus if that dream would become feasible remained clouded in uncertainty.

"You and I have something in common now. We both have handicapped, elder brothers. Your brother may have lost his mobility, while…mine is capable of motor functions, but plunged into a remorseless darkness. We also care for our brothers. I cannot count the number of times my 'friends' advised me to cut ties with him. He is bound to impulse, and I can remember a time when he was not."

"So's Ichi-nii…why does everyone have to fight?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that."

The height-exaggerated pair felt to another dark silence. The sun began to gravitate to the horizon in its giant, golden aura, and the leaves felt to dying shades of crimson, orange, and murky yellow. Takumi again damned himself for the series of unfortunate events that would befall this girl…but how could he choose? Sacrifice one brother to restore your own? How can one even cut the ethics of that?!

"Can I introduce you to my dad?" Yuzu asked suddenly.

Takumi had dismissed the earlier thought as noise, and so was not adequately paying attention when it was proposed. The statement caught him off-guard. "Huh?"

"You know, the bearded man you met this morning."

"Oh him." Takumi resigned in emphasis. Even if he wasn't a mind reader, how could he forget? "Why introduce me? I am just a stranger, and besides…my brother doesn't make the best housewarming guest."

"Can't you come alone?"

"No. I have to keep an eye on him, or he will hurt either himself or somebody else. I don't let him out of my sight for more than two or three hours. I'm sorry, but Tamashi and I are a package deal. Where one goes, the other follows. I must decline your offer."

She nodded in an understanding that in truth she had no idea of. Again, her mind was an utter book to his telepathy, with her thoughts coalescing on her homeward bound routines-idle chores like cooking, cleaning, and keeping her father from being pummeled by the triumvirate of her brother, sister, and cool-looking houseguest. Such simpleminded concerns, where the greatest fear she could hold-outside of the imposed gang assault of her brother-was burning the family roast…Takumi found it enviable, the mundane qualities of such a life. Tamashi's rent-apart mind held no coffer in the realm of normalcy, and as a blind beggar to that realm, he crawled hand and knees for someone to take care of him. His rage, the direct antithesis to this girl's kindness, subsisted on itself. His rage, which should have long ago made his heart shut down or explode, snaked like a cancer into his mind. If not for Takumi, the elder brother perhaps would forget to feed and drink on edibles, rather mindlessly retreating to the sounds of his head.

"Can I ask you something?" Takumi posed quickly.

Yuzu looked up at the pink-haired psychic. With her attention acquired, he pushed on. "I recently had a problem come up at the carnival. You see, the folks are becoming paranoid of my brother, and their confidence in my control over him has dimmed over the past months. They would like for me to stay, but…Tamashi, in their views, belongs in a sanitarium. You do know what a sanitarium is?"

"Yeah. My daddy's had to transfer some patients when we were little. Why won't you place him there?"

"For me, that's abandonment, Miss Yuzu. Would you abandon your twin to the rubber rooms and the thugs in white coats. The answer's in your eyes. Though neither sibling of yours is currently insane, I bet you would rather try containment at home than to put them there. Please…"

"But Tamashi needs help! You see that!"

Takumi smiled solemnly at her attitude, but it was a doubt he had endured many times before. The futility of his brother's condition, combined with his own expectant fate and how he was deceiving this girl burdened his brow enough. He looked away and focused on the houses instead. "My brother was rendered blind when he was a teenager, perhaps the same age as Ichigo. Ten years in darkness has affected him tremendously. He cannot see the face of friends, and so has to go by voice alone. That is why, after I drop you off, I will see to him. I do not intend on abandoning him, and under no circumstance will I see him placed in a crazy house. Its just…I'm tired of seeing how alone he is…"

"So, Mr. Takumi, what are you asking me?"

"Look after my brother. I don't expect you to let him in your home, but…keep an eye on him. Tamashi was a different person than he is today."

"You sound too sad, Mr. Takumi. You need something to cheer you up!"

The shameless boldness of Yuzu forced even a smirk from his dour face.

They reached the Kurosaki household in short order, which the pink-haired teen walked the pint-sized preteen to her door. Before she entered, she spoke to him, though he heard the mental announcement long before she formed it by her larynx.

"Mr. Takumi, if you have to go on vacation, that's alright! I can watch over Mr. Tamashi for a bit."

Takumi couldn't read the reason for her agreement out of her mind, except that it was pure altruism. Nevertheless, his throat felt exceptionally deadpan, as he croaked out, "Thank you."

And the Last Kurosaki…for if everything went to plan, she would be the Sole Survivor…shut the door behind her, preparing to cook a meal for a family that would never visit her.

Takumi Warunabe held his head in his hands at his evil deed, and whispered in his vacillating mind: Dear God. Strike me down for this…

Answers came early, as he felt a spiritual pressure from behind him. It was faint, mingled with an archaic, chimerical energy of another sort, that he could not identify off-hand. But the thoughts of the interloper revealed the identity of his assailant.

"Rukia Kuchiki. There is something strange about ya."

The sable-locked Soul Reaper, whose whole history was unfolding automatically in Takumi's brain, approached with indignation to combat his composure. "What's a member of Canopus doing here?"

Takumi did not look at the Soul Reaper; At the moment, she was practically harmless, bound into her gigai like the ice captain and forced to live as an ageless teenager. She could not kill him unless armed, and guns seemed a novelty to sword-wielders. "You don't know? I have nothing to say to you. And I'd advise you to refrain from _kido _spells."

Given that his back faced her, he could imagine the look of surprise on her face, and heard it in his head. "Psychics are a wonder, when they are as they are supposed to be. Please. I am a non-combatant, and that neck Ortiz tried to crush is still ginger."

"Okay then, if you claim to be a psychic, then-"

"-then why don't I tell you what you're thinking? Okay. You have a crush on Ichigo Kurosaki and Renji Abarai, you are concerned about the strange behaviors of your brother Byakuya, and you, like so many others, are curious as to why we, Canopus, want Toshiro Hitsugaya. You also think the clothes of mortals are too confining, and-and you want to strike me where the sun doesn't shine right now."

Takumi looked over his shoulder to see the dainty soul reaper's face stewing in a maroon color-whether it was red from embarrassment or murder was a divide he knew already. "I hope you've gotten used to your new life."

"…what's that supposed to mean?"

"In due time. Excuse me."

His prayers dehydrated to oblivion as he felt a collection of spiritual pressures accumulate in the northern Mashiba district. With distraction acquired, the psychic cast an illusion to hide himself from Ms. Kuchiki, and turned back to the problem at hand. The Soul Reapers had finally arrived, and his brother would be there to. Pumping his legs as best he could, he hurried to the north…the conspiracy was in its final stage…

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_**Unknown Location…**_

"'Ey, 'Ajime."

"What, Ortiz?"

"Ya gonna wake 'e kiddo?"

"When Kiiromori says to."

"Damn." Silence, for a while, then. "Screw 'im, I say. We coulda been done with 'is whole thing if 'e just let me deal 'ith it instead of Janus. 'Ad ta clean up twice behind 'im, I tell ya."

"Bodies are bodies…I've had to clean up behind me before…"

"'Ajime…snow-kids starting ta stir…ya see?"

Toshiro swam in blind darkness for so long, he forgot up from down, and right from left. However, his mind was adapting, and he was recognizing his body orientation amidst the waking darkness. He felt that his body was in a chair, housed in some seating position, and his wrist seemed locked in place…

"Yes, Ortiz. He is waking, because you won't shut up!"

Toshiro had to attest to that, given the sheer loudness of the people. Pain surfaced with his consciousness, coalescing with the realization of his objective, blind surroundings. Darkness shook as his eyes opened, his wrists unable to wipe the curtains of wakening from his teal eyes. Mysterious fatigued left barren his emotions, casting them into a forgettable pit as his crucial curiosity commandeer control over his light-stealing pupils. His ears could only scout out so much: His captaincy had taught him as much.

His eyes drank in his milieu: What he anticipated as a dungeon was not what met his eyes. Instead, a scene of lavishness and propriety met his weary, heavy eyeballs. Laid out a foot from him was a resplendent table, cultivated with exquisite and fulsome meals. The 10th captain had heard much of the perceived extravagance of the rich, throwing in the faces of bootlicking guests a mawkish display of decadent gluttony. He had scene many copies of such a vivid, corpulent picture in examples of Kyoraku Shunsui's notorious episodes of revelry: Beer, after all, was not the only consumable at his parties, for it was quicker to be inebriated in such limitation. No, even Souls had to eat, and the nobles in the Seireitei had whispered penchants to debasing themselves in lush banquets, even at the expense of the poor. But before him, Toshiro could count glazed, bird-meat, larger than his head and golden-brown. He could see several bottles of liquor or wine, with nonsense words like 'merlot', 'pinot noir', and 'chardonnay' stamped on the labels. The amorous scents of seasoned and spiced meats, combined with fresh loaves and steamed vegetables (he identified as corn and rice), assaulted his virgin nostrils, nostrils more accustomed to the smell of Matsumoto's burly sake, rice dumplings, and noodles. This exuberant display reeled away his weariness, enticing his shock, and unconsciously made his mouth water like a dog. Survived on a diet of watermelons, tea, and blood, the sweetness and salty union of aromas pulverized his brain.

He turned his attention to something else to get his mind off the spread-he had not eaten before he left with Isshin and Karin, and now the dubious surplus of food reminded his belly vigorously. He found the owners of the voices, both whom he recognized with steeled anger. The table had only six seats-he sat on one end, while the one at the other end was turned away so he could not discern if its cushion was vacant or filled. The two seats closest to him with empty, but the opposite pair next to those were not so: To his left and his right were his captors, one partaking in a leg of the glazed, based bird, while the other sat arms folded, unable to participate in the vainglorious meal.

Hajime Roku, the unseen leader of the Shishi-Roku. Ortiz, the mechanical goliath. The former had abandoned his construction worker deceit for an oriental robe that hung on a single shoulder, though its flowing green colors failed to hide his gormandizer gut. The latter, by contrast, garbed himself back in a heavy trench coat, his bulk hidden with a narcissus's arrogance, or a commoner's sickness. A massive fedora rested once more on his head, hiding that face not of sinew and bone, but of welded metal and bolts. As per habit, a fat cigar protruded from the dark space under his brimmed hat, belying the metallic texture of the giant. As for Roku, his red-face flushed with blood, as he stuffed his face with the opulent main course, knife and fork dancing deftly.

The rest of the room seemed vacant, though it had light enough for Hitsugaya to gather more out of his surroundings. A quartet of TV monitors scrunched in holes by the wall, flickering the environment of strategically-placed cameras. The middle one showcased a scene of a single man, bent gangly on his heels, though Toshiro couldn't identify the person. The other two showed blank corridors and corners, infested only with imagination and empty space. On either opposing wall rested two doors, one red and to his left, and one green and to his right.

It was Ortiz who took notice. "Ah, 'ey kiddo. Ye gonna die soon, baby blue."

"Ortiz, if you don't lock that jaw of yours…" Hajime warned between bites.

Toshiro's memory assailed him with the weakening of the aromas. He remembered the last memory he had before being unjustly knocked out-a blast on the end of Ortiz's left arm, blowing up the vessel which they traveled in.

"Where's Karin?! Where's Mr. Kurosaki?"

"'ey, now. Jus' calm down, ya 'ear? Ya got bigger 'ings t'wor'ry 'bout 'an a kid an' a goat."

"Let me out of my bindings, and I'll-"

"Do what, 'ey? Freeze me? Tickle me? Ha! Somebody's getting t'big for 'is breeches."

Hitsugaya growled at the venomous truth, at once more being reminded of his powerlessness. Wrists and ankles roped door to his chair, he did not possess the strength his rank suggested. Hyourinmaru remained catatonic in his mind, and the wimpy gigai he possessed paled in the power he wanted. If he had Hyourinmaru, Ortiz would be literally put on ice. For now, information would be his game, if he could escape.

"Well…you captured me. What exactly do you intend to do?"

Roku responded in Ortiz's stead. "We're not the one's to decide. If left to me, I'd skewer you and mail your ears back to your colleges. You killed three of my number! Shishi-San doesn't have as nice of a ring to it! And Ortiz here, well…"

Ortiz didn't offer a response. Hitsugata took verbal initiative. "What about your boss? Didn't you say I was number one?"

"Kiiromori? Ah, 'at fat son-of-a-bull locked himself up in the lab for sometime. I haven't seen hide-or-bald head of him since…well…must've been last week. Talking about experimenting 'ith a new ecta-plasma-sumthing or 'nother."

"Ortiz. Perhaps we should let the boss speak for us. I don't think your metallic voicebox will ever be elegant enough for restaurant serv-"

The mechanical muscleman interrupted with blunt force: before the jab ended, Ortiz slammed his giant right arm into the table, crushing food and wood alike in the splintering sound. His mass stood from the straining chair, and he pointed his finger at the mercenary.

"C'mon, kiddo. Why doan I keel ya right here? Ya handle 'ollows, not reapers. I bash them good."

Ortiz's weakness struck out of invisibility with his cantankerous boasts, but the red-faced Roku had yet to privy a weakness. Time to resume information-gather, specifically, about the Kurosakis.

"So, if you are so assured of victory, why won't you tell me where Kar-the Kurosakis are?"

The behemoth in the trenchcoat leaned in, so that the bound Hitsugaya could get a look under the hat at his human eyes, and feel assaulted by the noxious fumes of his cigar. "Kiddo, someone else's gonna teel ya. I'm no emissary. Besides, w'at's it t'ya? Just a human kid an' daddy afta all."

Hitsugaya refused to openly respond. He was gathering information, not giving it.

Before Ortiz could press on anymore, the lighting of the room shifted from clandestine yellow to a fearful red. A siren sounding more akin to a trombone than a mechanical alarm sounded off through the facility, boring into the 10th captain's ears as it blasted not with harmonious notes, but sounds so obviously out of tune that they hurt. Ortiz looked up, and his cigar wriggled as if signally the attempted smile made by the behemoth.

"Fight club time. Guess yer not as sacrificial as Kiiromori expected, kiddo. 'ey, Roku! Time t'kick sum names an' take sum-"

"You're saying it wrong." Roku responded, lifting to his feet and obtaining a staff from under the table. It looked little different than an iron pole. "I guess I have to fight…"

"Damn right you do! Time ye earned yer keep!"

"And him?"

"Leave 'im. Boss'll tend t''im."

The two giants-one of metal and one of fat-left in haste, even as the abhorrent trombone siren continued to blare out, grating and scraping both Hitsugaya's nerves and his eardrums. Fortunately, the siren precipitated to nothingness, and the ice captain once more was left alone, only with his thoughts, and the massive, hunger-evoking spread laid out before him. He looked at the ropes binding his wrists to the chair arms…perhaps he could wriggle out of them? Then his feet could be freed?

Hitsugaya briefly looked at the plate set before him-a simple dish of foods he had never seen before, certainly not of this country, allured his vision. The dish seemed to be a medley of simple produce, with coils of lettuces, slices of cheese, sprinklings of meat, all wrapped in a flour-rich wrapping (of what the wrapping was he couldn't tell). A knife, spoon, and fork were set out on opposing sides much like a gentleman's manner, and Hitsugaya saw his opportunity. He leaned in to grasp the knife, and sawed the strands away. After several minutes of silence, the resourceful captain freed his hands, and set about to untying his legs.

No sooner that he freed his legs that his mind picked up that he was not alone. From his original seat, with the table obscuring his vision and his inability to look under the table, he had not suspected to see a black, polished shoe casually set away from the chair. But that shoe contained a foot, which in turn connected to a leg.

Hitsugaya neared it, grabbing the dining knife as a meager but potential defense. As he crept forth, the arm attached to the body moved back, and grasped flailing a cup of water. Toshiro bent his posture more, aware of how ridiculous he looked, but at the same time allowing instinct its savvy.

The arm disappeared back to behind the chair, much like the leg. Hitsugaya could no longer see indicators of the chair facing the monitors being occupied. Nevertheless, he crept forward, until he was just behind the chair, positioning himself to where he could leap in for a sneak attack.

He pounced, the knife speared at where the neck of the interloper should be. What he pierced instead was the fabric of the posh chair, vacant of everything except air.

"…where are you, bastard?" Toshiro couldn't help swearing. Looking around him, he could not see any one…

"Wait a second…" Toshiro's eyes steeled at the green door, seeing it slightly ajar. As if someone had snuck out and undoubtedly left it as it was to bait him…

"You're slipping up, whoever you are."

Toshiro crept slowly towards the door, anticipating an attack from the specter that eluded him by a capricious step. His skin resonated with ice, and power subtly flowed into his thighs as he neared the door. A hand rested on the stagnant knob, and with force he jerked it open, the kitchen knife thrust as a mediocre guard.

Darkness there and nothing more.

He looked down, seeing a stairwell going down, as if tempting him to Hell's frothing gates itself. Fitting: A pale-faced devil was waiting for him, he suspected.

"…If either of you are down there…I'm coming for you both."

The carnival of festering madness purged his mind, but he was still a captain. Now, it was time to enter and end it all. He could practically hear the specter, either the unseen Kiiromori or the revenant Bloodswerth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The stairway down held a trepidation and a vague, illusory sense of sulphur, so potent and yet so indistinct that Hitsugaya wondered if they could be real or not. He clutched hard the pathetic knife in his hands, expecting anything despite the claustrophobic corridor that his free hand rubbed against. His shoes took great care to hold silence in these concrete stairs, feeling that the element of surprise was everything. He did not have his powers still, and bound with the feeble strength of a child was a hindrance he could do without. His hand expounded further on that annoyance by ruffling his spiked hair in indignation, aware of the matters at hand and aware of nothing in front of him.

Where did this lead? What was Canopus up to? If Canopus truly wanted him, why was he straddled in front of a rich feast, instead of wherever Kiiromori was? What was truth of matter, and what were fabrications?

He could feel a large spiritual pressure outside: Several in fact. He could recognize the spiritual pressures of many out there,and he smiled as something was finally going their way. Even Ortiz could beat what was coming. He could sense the ape-ish force of Abarai, the cold snakes of Ichimaru, Matsumoto's, Ayasegawa's, Omayada's…and was that…Toshiro's face paled slightly, for he did not anticipate Momo coming…

Haste swelled in his soul. Powers be damned, he had brought enough to this. No matter where this portent lead him, he would see it to the bitter end.

The winding stairs finally ended with a single green door, dismal emerald in the marble squalor. Simple enough, but Hitsugaya treated it like one before a scorching fire. His hand reached out to the handle-the metal warmed his hand.

He pushed the door open, expectant of many phantasms, many impossibilities wreathed in clown's attire. What reality showed, in flesh and in architecture, was beyond even Toshiro's anticipations and collected simultaneously, for he realized something looked familiar. Scientists worked with grandiose machines-both the workings of the unscrupulous Urahara and the deathless Kurotchuri, but different at the same time.

The room was massive, big enough to fit an entire training court for a division, he wagered. A single path lead towards the far end, the lanterns above seemingly dotting the single file. Adjacent to this row stood innumerable pods, cloaked in darkness. Hitsugaya didn't dare count manually the total number, nor did he fathom the purpose. His attention was drawn instead to the gadgets and objects at the opposite side of the room, dominating the picture with size, and emotional importance.

A single chair, posh and fat like the one in the above room, stood idly with its back to the green entry, and his teal gaze; This was almost inconspicuous, in comparison to the massive, mechanical freakshow that towered over it. A trio of rings held high up, grazing the ceiling, made of iron as thick as Zaraki's arms. However, it was what, or more appropriately who, that was latched on each ring. Unconscious and blissfully unaware, three humans that Toshiro painfully knew. In the center, Ichigo Kurosaki was latched up, not in his Soul Reaper form, but as if he was plucked directly out of his hospital bed, a green gown covering his body, and wrapping endlessly tightened around his legs. To his [Kurosaki's] left, the patriarch, the bearded Isshin, hung unconsciously, dirt and soil smudging his face. Finally, the small body suspended by strong, metallic coils, was Karin Kurosaki…unconscious to the horror that she was in. She appeared uninjured, that much he was thankful for, but…

Toshiro didn't think, but his feet acted for him. Immediately he ran into the building, his cautious resolve resigned to desperation. The Kurosakis, who had been his hosts and saviors in so many ways…Isshin, who accepted him into his home; Ichigo, who forced once before the Seven-Sealed Devil to retreat; Karin, who saved him so many times…wrong was too weak a word, had too small a backbone for this atrocity. Why was this happening? Wasn't HE their target?!

The air grew cold with his desire for justice. He ignored the mysterious pods, the lights, everything…even the horse-head emblems on the higher parts of the walls. His focus was locked on the trio of friends above him. The desire to get them down mattered most to him, but…how did they get up there?

Wasn't the mastermind supposed to be watching?

"KIIROMORI!!!" Toshiro shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice ringing through the scarlet tatters above and the metal eggs below. But silence answered him. His eyes darted around him, looking for something that might enlist observation. There was nothing, though his sharp eyes picked up a single red door, shining to his right. No windows of any sort, though he could tell he was underground. Had he not arrived yet? Could he stop whatever it was this fellow was planning? What Canopus was intending, or was this a show? Was he truly the target, and this remorseless display a mere deception to lure him out, alone and powerless.

"KIIROMORI! YOU BASTARD! COME OUT AND FIGHT ME!" The force of his lungs shook up the expansive room, yet failed to waken the Kurosaki trio. Anxiety clutched him-Anger consumed him. A dragon snarled in his eyes. His skin shivered, as an arctic chill pervaded his flesh.

Where was he?!

"I'm what you want, coward! COME FACE ME! Are you so scared of a little boy, you won't come out?! Come on! Karin doesn't need this! None of them do! I'm what you want! KIIROMORI!!! ANSWER ME!!"

Silence. Damnably, insipid silence. His throat felt hoarse and jaded, but he fired out another volley.

"Damn! Are you deaf as well!? Why won't you answer me!"

"…because he can't."

Toshiro froze. He recognized that haunting voice, recognized the emotionless tenor and patronizing sanctimoniousness. It was a priest's hypocrisy, a devil's seduction, emanating out of the unseen mouth. He knew instantly where it was coming from…the chair, with its back turned to him in high-handed arrogance, reeking of the gluttony from upstairs. An angel, one that slept with a hedonistic devil, sat in that chair, and he realized that voice was his death knell. He wanted to kill it, but…the nightmare said to him, that, with that paltry kitchen knife still locked in his fingers…if it was, who he thought it was…sitting quietly and secretively in that chair…waiting like a diabolical predator…he was lost. Fury by emotion, fury by child's knuckles had nothing against the concordant steel of a sword.

"I know your sin. It is not arrogance. It is sloth. Apathy. Indolence. Laziness. Ha. Ha. Ha." The disembodied voice bantered, knowing its audience was listening. "Do you know how those, convicted of sloth, if Purgatory? Do you, little reaper, little fugitive, that escaped the light of God? Do you? Let me tell you, you cold, selfish, undeserving of life, child. It is simple: Those willing to repent of the sin of Sloth are forced to run incessantly and unceasingly, day after day, until our Lord and God forgives them. Tiredness matters none to those trying of salvation. But…anger is foreign to me. I cannot express it, or any other emotion…However, if anything infuriates me, it is sinners that cannot identify their own need of penance."

"…Where's Kiiromori?" Toshiro asked.

"…Kiiromori is dead. And so are you, Toshiro Hitsugaya."

A hand moved into sight, holding a wine glass of water, setting it on the ground. A hand wrapped in black satin gloves, attached to an arm of black cloth. The act was performed with deliberate slowness, as if to bait and hold the audience in suspense. The arm coiled back up, to the sanctuary behind the chair, and then, after a few moments, the voice spoke again.

"……I know so much about you all. About you, Toshiro Hitsugaya…the youngest captain of the Seireitei to date, a prodigal son, and an aberration to the future. Power comes too high a price, _dragon pequeno_, and you paid for your power in a peculiar way…There's a reason your _espada_ is a dragon. According to myth, dragons are long-lived, practically immortal, but burdened with sin. You will live long, if you walk from here…but you will lose emotion, as I have. Collect your power, collect your prestige, little Nino, but you will lose what makes a soul…a soul. How ironic.

"When a man dies, he survives in name and in deed, his relatives passing on his names. When you, and other reapers die…it is to oblivion. Either the ravenous hollows swallow you towards agonizing annihilation, or you pass by other means, are reincarnated into a new body, and begin the cycle anew. If I kill you, you will merely be born again to the throes of life, blessed as a cherub. Your personality will be there, but your past will be erased…my, my…how merciless God is towards blasphemers like you."

Toshiro grew tired of the mutterings of this man, and shouted out in his impatience. "Who the HELL ARE YOU?!"

Emotion, void as usual in his simple tenor, replied like a peasant. "I am the Scourge of God, appointed to chastise you, since no one knows the remedy of your iniquity, except me. You are wicked, but I am _more wicked than you_…"

The man stood up, walking away from his chair. He was a dapper man, clothed in a simple tuxedo of the darkest sable, buttoned to hide his undershirt and his lithe body. Everywhere Toshiro looked, the familiar tint of black dived into his pupils: Black suit, black shoes, black gloves, but it was that fedora, that wide-brimmed hat, that ensnared his attention. That simple hat of a Salem witch hunter or an American undertaker…the 10th captain had seen it before-seen three times actually. The brim was pulled down, hiding his eyes, but showing his angular nose and mouth. A small smile graced the bottom half of his visage, as he stood over him, staring in lackadaisical amusement.

"You know nothing of me, Toshiro. Considering you've fought me treis times…that's laughable."

"You again…Bloodswerth…" Toshiro growled. "Why can't you stay dead?"

"The answer is all around you anyway, if you simply look."

"What are you planning?! Where is Kiiromori?! I'm your target, am I not?!"

The smile curled upward slightly. The dandy turned his gaze towards the hanging Kurosakis, unconscious to everything around them. "Three questions…interesting. Out of courtesy, for you have endured much, I shall answer. I spoke the truth when I said Dr. Kokoro Kiiromori died. I killed him myself, though that was several hours ago. I'm afraid the rest of Canopus has no knowledge of this, not even that clever shrew Takumi. I am planning nothing, outside what I must've told you several times before. I assumed it is Kiiromori's plans that you and the Gotei 13 are interested in…but that answer I shall hold off. As for the third remark…you erred grievously, dragon."

"What do you mean?"

"It is true that you were my target, my number one interest. But you should be careful, sieving veracity from that brute Ortiz. Do you know that he was a combatant in the Battle of the Somme in World War I? That was how he came to be reconstructed-a casualty picked up by scientists, and put together like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein's monster. Ortiz is good with lies. The truth is, while you were of fanciful intrigue to me…no one else cared if you lived or died, so long as you stayed out of the way. This loops back to Kiiromori's current deceased status: _El medico gordo_ sought to eliminate you, and rob me of my honor, by unleashing Tamashi Warunabe on you: In your form, he would have dissected you. Before he could place the order to the manipulating brother, I killed him. His corpse is in the next room, if you want to see."

"So, if I'm not, then-"

"Do you remember when you first encountered me?"

"What does that-"

"Do you remember?" Bloodswerth pressed on again. "July 29th, wasn't it? I met you outside the Kurosaki household. Didn't I tell you, that I was going to slit their throats?"

The words haunted him, for yes indeed, Bloodswerth had said that. But on each subsequent encounter, the dapper dandy had no memory of what happened of the duel before, so he never bothered to bring it up.

"You, _dragon pequeno_, were my interest. The Kurosakis, however, were claimed by Kiiromori. He held an interesting grudge against psychics, against Soul Reapers in general. He found it infuriating how you Soul Reapers robbed people of their memories if you saw them…his mother I believe had an encounter with one, and had been treated so haughtily that she lived for spite. Canopus is a body of science: Tamashi, Ortiz, and I are mere arms of force. If you get to see past the red door, you might find your answers. But you are guilty of sloth, and so you may be too lazy to see the truth."

"Stop playing around, priest! Explain yourself before I kill you!"

"With a kitchen knife? Have you learned nothing? I am the Seven Sealed Devil, Januarias Bloodswerth. Blades are literally in my bloodstream. You do not scare a man who expects death with every battle, who looks over your shoulder and sees irrefutable proof of my curse…" The Seven-Sealed Devil turned back to Toshiro, his eyes never revealed under his hat; Toshiro knew he was eyeing him, all the same. "Soon, your power will return, and we can fight. But not now. I imagine you have more questions?"

"You still haven't said why Kiiromori needs the Kurosakis."

"It was your fault for not realizing it. Look." He turned and pointed a finger at each captive, moving to each as he uttered his next three words. "Moon. Sun. Star. The Dragon will follow. I want you, to bolster his device. He originally wanted Yuzu Kurosaki, but Takumi would not allow it. No matter what Kiiromori may say, Tamashi only takes orders from his younger brother. Anyone else he's likely to kill. So…he decided to try it with three instead of four."

"What is he planning-"

"Do you find it odd that Yasutora Sado, Orihime Inoue, Tasuki Arisawa, Keigo Asano, and other of Ichigo's associates are becoming spiritually aware, whereas before they were not?"

This factoid had not missed Hitsugaya's perception: Since before the brawl back in Mashiba some weeks ago, he had known about this anomaly. He had a inkling as to what caused it as well, but he did nothing to report it as of yet.

"Ichigo Kurosaki radiates so much spiritual pressure that he contaminates others that he is in constant contact with. Akin to pheromones, but instead of inducing sexual arousal, he merely unlocks psychic powers. Kiiromori theorized that this could be applied to anyone, if a significant and uncontrollable spiritual pressure is deigned available, and the vessel is in constant contact with others harboring the potential. Unfortunately, Ichigo is the only available subject to observe; As of today, no other psychic has been located that unconsciously and spontaneously transforms normal _hombres_ into psychics. So, he looked at the family: An interesting tree…Isshin Kurosaki, a former Soul Reaper captain…and two budding psychics in the daughters…come now. You knew that eventually, even if she hadn't put that fluid in her body, she would've become a hollow-killer in one way or another. Her blood combined with her brother's constant presence and the presence of hollows, as collected from data, indicate that as her eventual destiny."

The Seven-Seal Devil paced in front of the machine, until he stood directly under Ichigo's limp form above. In a grandiose gesture he threw his arms back, his face widening ear to ear. "Though I killed Kiiromori, it would be bad manners of me to go this far and not carry out the mission itself. You see, the source of it all is you, Soul Reapers. All of you. Your very existence chafed Kiiromori: His family tried to speak with you, and you all ignored him or treated him with arrogance. You stripped his and his mother's chances of study, and now…ha. Ha. Ha. Now, he is returning the favor. Twofold, this obese contraption is designed to perform. The first function is fairly obvious-"

"Quit prattling on and come out with it!"

Hitsugaya's weary but potent lungs forced out some power, but it did nothing to erase his smirk. "Souls are an interesting source of power. Kiiromori devised a way to convert souls into pure, psychic energy. I think you can figure the rest of it out, what I will do, if you do not kill me."

Toshiro felt the color drain out of his face. "Y-you're going to liquidate them?! That's insane!"

"Liquidate? No. Transform? Yes. Their bodies will shrivel into bags of bone, and their souls will be gone, away from the dull existence of the Seireitei. I honored Kiiromori in this task. With just Ichigo alone we can make the entire countries of Japan, China, Korea, and Taiwan spiritually aware. I imagine the whole world will become aware with three Kurosakis; Sadly, Yuzu was going to be sacrificed as well, but Tamashi will kill anyone that makes his brother unhappy…"

"You're insane! What's the point of doing that?!"

"When the globe is spiritually aware, you won't be able to hide. You won't be able to dictate terms. Hollows, Reapers, and Ghosts alike will be forced into the common spotlight. I think, by sheer numbers…6.5 billion people vastly outnumber those that have died, am I right? Kiiromori figured if you couldn't study them in their environment, force assimilation on them." Bloodswerth lowered his arms, and casually removed his gloves from his hands. "There is a second purpose to this machine. However, _dragon pequeno_…you'll have to beat it out of me."

Toshiro was trying to consume all the information given to him. Prodigious and corpulent as it was, it seemed far-fetched by a long strain. Neither of the past 12th division captains conceived anything like this, by contrivance or dream. The sheer madness or vengeance to accompany it boggled minds…and that wasn't even the only function to the whole device!

"You should be ready now. Haven't you felt it? Your power is back, is it not?"

Toshiro did not hear him. He hadn't the time to wonder what sort of ruses were being weaved in his mouth. Instead, he felt icicles bristling under his arms and neck. Inside of him, once more, a dragon roared, revived from a hibernation of frosty hoards. Idly his hand reached into his pocket, clutching a forgotten object. With an automatist approach, seasoned by many past missions, the boy captain removed his 'Soul Candy', and flipped up the head. Whether or not he could fight was beyond the point. He was so fueled by salted anger that he didn't care of the result.

Fortune favored the daring, at times.

He popped the candy in; Instantly, without fanfare, he reverted back, for the first time in weeks, to his black kimono and white haori, the clothes of a Soul Reaper Captain. He would've smiled in glee if not the circumstances. Inside he heard the long-missed breaths of Hyourinmaru, his _zanpaku-to_ spirit. And at his side, where it belonged, was his blade, black as the soul of the man he faced today.

He turned to the _konpaku_ inhabiting his body, and gave a simple command. "Get Out."

Needless to say, the stand-in puppet did not have to be told twice. With his absence, Toshiro looked up, back at the unconscious Karin, at Isshin and Ichigo, before fixing his cold stare at thee dapper dandy, who stood arms folded and smile hidden.

"You're a bit arrogant yourself, priest."

"Not priest, _dragon pequeno_. Exorcist. I made my living sending evil spirits to the pits that spawned them. You are no different." He raised his hand up, as if to conjure thoughts.

"Tell me," Toshiro remarked, trying to keep his eagerness for murder at bay, "Really, what exactly do you intend to get out of this? You're not Kiiromori, or Ortiz, or Warunabe. What are you trying to get?"

"Ha. Ha. Amusing, _Nino._ Your apathy blocks your intelligence. If you fought me three times already, you should know the answer. My sin is that I am a hedonist. I live only for battle, for it is the only thing in life that I can feel. The stronger and more emotional the foe, the better. I do not care if Kiiromori's plans succeed or fail. The fight is all that matters to me. Now. Amuse me. Summon your _espada_."

Toshiro's hand grasped his hilt: It felt foreign to him. He traced an eye back to Karin again, before drawing his battle cry:

_"Sit atop the Frozen Heavens, Hyourinmaru!"_

_"Combinan, Sellos: Primero y Segundo y Tercero y Cuarto y Quinto y Sexto y Septimo: Gallant Unicorn."_

As both warriors bore their drawn blades, the air chilled. The Dragon intended to dance with the pale-faced Devil today. And to sate their greed and their temperance, the Sun, Star, and Moon served as the prize.

Let no mercy be shown here, for it will neither be received, nor found.

Toshiro leapt to kill.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

End Chapter.

_A/N: Oh dear.! I can't believe its taken this long! Sheesh! I apologize mucho for this hiatus. Thank you for staying with it, and thank you for your patience. See you soon._

_~Chance O'Neal_


	17. Chapter 17: Grinning Cheshire Cat

**Author's note: Well. To all those that read this, that are fans of it, I present the long-awaited, much anticipated climax to this story, Vulnerable Europa. However, I feel I need to, given that it has indeed been so long, offer an explanation to you. I never intended on discontinuing this story, and I won't, but I wanted the climax to be done right. So, this is my best attempt. Let me just say that when you're splitting time between college and your original fiction, some things tend to get put aside. Perhaps for a bit too long. I am sorry it has taken so long, as I have made that critical mistake once before. I hope I have not done it again.**

**I do need to give a thank you to two very talented authors that serendipitously motivated me to get my act together and write because I enjoy it. To Yemi Hikari and Evilhumour Author, both fantastic authors in their own rights and to whom I am a fan of their works. I thank you both.**

**Disclaimer: Ownership of BLEACH resources and Characters goes unwaveringly to Tite Kubo. The organization Canopus, and its members, belong to me.**

**I thank all that take the time to read my work. Reviews are appreciated. Don't worry. I have some fluff in this.**

**Chapter 17: Grinning Cheshire Cat**

**August 18****th****…**

The dragon roared, crossing its horn with the unicorn's as they bellowed their respective warcry. With his heart fuelled by a twinge of worry, a pinch of desperation, and gallons of unadulterated hatred, Toshiro Hitsugaya pushed his weapon forward, intending brute strength to solve the matter quickly.

He could not see the albino's eyes, but he felt the pressure lessen slightly. Then he thrust forward.

His blade crashed into the ground, freezing it almost instantly.

The next sensation he felt was a slice to his back, a mocking nip. Blood dripped and crystallized on the ground.

"How boring. Lets pick up the tempo."

Toshiro felt the blade twirl towards him; in this regard, he was fast enough, rolling under the blade. The cold, analytical mind that made him the prodigal captain already took into account the revelations left in his style. In the past, Bloodswerth had always fought with two blades-those were easily discarded. However, he was only using a single blade, and so the danger he typically displayed was cut completely in half.

The Seven-Sealed Devil, perhaps in the madness of his hedonism, swung too far. Toshiro saw counter-attack opportunity before him, jumping in to slice and end the battle.

"Not so soon."

Like a ballerina he kept spinning with the momentum. Toshiro saw a window open to attack his spine, before he felt a hard shoe slap him in the head, dropping him to the ground.

Toshiro rolled as best as he could. He could not detect the reiastsu of this man, and so needed to hear his movements and see his dances to be assured of safety.

His eyes widened as he witnessed his boot hurtle towards his nose.

Toshiro rolled, allowing the full force of his foot to slam on the ground. He saw him stumble slightly, not compensating for a miss. _Hyourinmaru_ reared up suddenly, lashing at his leg.

The blade of Bloodswerth quickly intercepted the mammoth _Hyourinmaru_, holding it at a perpendicular angle.

"Ah. You Soul Reaper _capitans_ know _nada _about technique. How a much weaker _hombre, _who by all accounts should falter and be eradicated by your supreme might…can so effortlessly and consistently deflect your fatal blows. Perhaps against one such as Kyoraku or Yamato, I would fall. But I can exploit the brute force of Zaraki and Komamura. I can penetrate the strategms of Tousen, Fon, and Ichimaru. And you…you lack either strength or will. So what made you great? Personal will? Desire? The ability to crack mountains before your determination? If so, I shall break you like a _cabarallo."_

Toshiro shoved the newer blade of the Seven-Sealed Devil aside, regaining his posture, allowing himself a bit of breathing room.

"Are you going to hit me, _dragon pequeno?_"

"I'm going to shut you up."

"Whenever you're ready."

And, perhaps in the greatest display of arrogance, the Seven-Sealed Devil removed his hat, and bowed, as if baiting him to strike.

Toshiro took it. A single _shun-po_ brought him within striking ranging, allowing the cold aura of his blade to freeze the very ground below him. His head was still lowered, revealing his kempt crop of ebon hair, as if begging in humility for decapitation. The boy captain swung his blade downward, intending to take shoulder and neck whole.

And again the blade cracked through the icy concrete.

And again, as the blade was buried in the shattered rock, he received a punter's kick to his ear.

Before he could regain his footing, the Devil remained on top of him, kicking him in the ribs. Then kicking him again. And again. And again.

And then he felt the blade penetrate the ground in front of his face. Cold eyes widened in surprise, as a face, solid white and masked eyes, looked at him.

"The world of humanity does not need Soul Reapers. Rather, it seems you Soul Reapers need us. I am proof of that right now. So what, Toshiro, if you've killed me before? I only need to kill you once."

Toshiro reached for his sword, but the seals of the Devil seemed to trump even that. Before he could reach for his blade, the purplish sword of Bloodswerth speedily impaled his hand, stopping any sort of deception.

"Where's your spirit? Are you simply going to writhe on your belly like the snake in the garden of Eden, where I must cut your head off? Or will you bite an angel? Course your venom through my pale veins? If you do nothing…"

Toshiro didn't say anything. Blood was freely slipping from the wound on his hand. With a jarring, painful pull, Bloodswerth pulled the blade out.

"Stand. Get your sword."

Toshiro did. He looked as the tuxedoed dandy stared with apathy, awaiting him to pick up his blade. He could feel his hand shriek in protest as he gripped the handle.

The dandy did not smile. Perhaps for the first time frustration was entering his otherwise stoic visage.

"I see you are worthless. Pitiful. A tin god amongst charlatans and asuras. You are still imprisoned within the mind of a feeble-bodied child. You are fed as breakfast, lunch, and dinner the gospel according to the Soul Reapers. You follow their pretty orations as if they were the auguries of a benevolent God, meant to bask in your unconditional love and unrealistic gratitude. Angels form from the hardened words of your fat, headless, bureaucrats, stuffing themselves into your own mouths, while you failed over and over to see the opaque stings jutting out of your knees and elbows. You think you are kindly guardians to humanity. In reality, you are merely saving your own hides. All it takes is one, to demonstrate resistance. What then, _dragon pequeno? _What do you think happens then?"

"I've killed you before-"

"You idiot. Have I pierced your memory as well as your body? I was killed three times, but _it wasn't because of you_. The first time, I gave you the necessary power. The second time, your lieutenant pierced me in the heart. The third time, I was impaled by an over-developed female and a feminine man. You did not strike the killing blow twice, and even when you did…it was circumstantial. I put the revolver on your hands and made it easy."

Toshiro readied his stance. He looked over the shoulder of the dandy, overlooking the three-armed contraption holding the Kurosaki's in thrall, as if they were sacrifices.

"You want to erase me? Come forward."

Toshiro did. He analyzed the man in his jabbering. Something was trying to penetrate the pattern. What it was, he wasn't sure.

His hefty _zan-pakuto_ soared at Bloodswerth's head, attempting more so to crush it than to slice it off. Easily, Bloodswerth swayed, bringing his own blade to parry and twirl it to the ground.

Toshiro anticipated successfully. His small hand reared up, with a spell of his own.

Briefly the swagger behind the otherwise emotionless man faded into concern within his pupils. But he was moving to quickly with his own parry to evade the _kido _spell. A blast of fire surged from Toshiro's hand, eating at the tuxedo of the Seven-Sealed Devil.

The reaction was far too quick for a man feasting on confidence. As soon as the fire leap on him, his foot slammed into Hitsugaya's mouth, kicking him away. Then, with a speed similarly acquired from their past duels, he cut his jacket off, allowing the flames to sterilize on the concrete before fading to ash.

"Fire and ice? Excellent show. I'll have to be quicker then."

Toshiro saw his fault and immediately readied another spell. Bloodswerth was upon him instantly, however. Like some demonic ballerina, he spun on his heel, introducing foot to cherub chin, and blade to haori. The 10th captain staggered, his equilibrium upset, before he registered a minute hop, and a second feast of dapper shoes to his teeth.

Hyourinmaru struggled to get up, only to have _Gallant Unicorn_'s thin frame cross it to the ground. Toshiro's other arm was restrained by Bloodswerth's off hand, holding the spell-cast in check.

Then Toshiro felt the gentleman descend into a brawler, as the dandy slammed his head into the captain's skull.

Obviously, neither expected the recoil. Bloodswerth stumbled backwards, his brain apparently more suited for weaving pretty sermons. Toshiro did not fair any better, as no matter the cushioning effect of his _reiatsu, _he still had the body of a child.

Still, Toshiro was not a living being either. He recovered first, and took the fight back to his opponent. Hyourinmaru twirled over his head, intending to smash the dandy into oblivion.

His eyes widened in shock as the blade flew unheeded through the air, not striking skull or skin. Instead, his eyes caught the dandy inside his range, the _Gallant Unicorn_ now rushing to pierce his heart.

Adroitness trumped brute force. Toshiro felt blood temporarily gush into his throat. The blade missed his vitals, but he felt it scrape bone.

"A touch of viscera and a touch of plasma…you Soul Reapers are all spirit. And you have none any more."

Toshiro didn't say anything. He could feel a crazy idea form in his head.

"Well? Do you except absolution? Shall I pray for your soul, so that God may accept it into Heaven?"

"When you freeze over."

"Interesting banter."

"Look at your feet."

The dandy did. His voice did not betray emotion. "Oh. A change in the pace."

Toshiro had thought perhaps instinctively more than cognitively. Placing his sword to the ground, the blade would freeze almost any liquid, even his own blood. As he had bled, the crimson fluid had drenched the dandy's feet. Not what he had been used to, but he could still use it.

"Well."

Toshiro took his advantage. _Hyourinmaru _raised up, piercing into the man's abdominals, intent fully on crystallizing his insides. With his feet held by frozen blood, Bloodswerth could not escape.

"Got you."

"Intertwined like Eve and the Snake in Eden, we may be. But God will pull me out."

Quickly, he removed on of his gloves by the teeth, and then slammed his free hand on his wound. His hand seemed to radiate energy, both upon him and onto Hitsugaya's sword. He spoke quietly, in his foreign tongue.

"_Dios O, Cuyo atributo es de siempre tener misericordia y para reservar, presentamos humildemente nuestras oraciones a Le para el alma de Tu sirviente que Usted tiene este día escatimó de este mundo, implorando que Le no entregarlo en las manos del enemigo, ni para olvidarselo siempre, pero para ordenar Tus a ángeles santos para recibirlo, y para soportarlo en paraíso; eso como Ha creído y ha esperado en Le puede ser entregado de los dolores del infierno y hereda la vida eterna por Cristo nuestro Señor. Amén_."

With that, both swords flew out of their opponents, as Bloodswerth leaned back. More blood continued to spill, freezing by the potency of Toshiro's renewed aura. Toshiro was already in mid-swing, his eyes intent on taking Bloodswerth's head completely off but his instrument on the back-swing. The exorcist's blade was more akin to a subtle syringe, twirling straight and under, seeking interception between rib and flesh. Toshiro's eyes widened at the sight, but he was already jumping back and could not dodge quick enough. Fortune smiled only enough to avoid a vital pierce. His shimigami robe sliced to a piece by the whim of the _Gallant Unicorn_.

Toshiro wanted to instinctively grasp his shoulder, as the blood of his own began to drip. Instead, he pointed his hand at his opponent, his own blade in the back-swing, and fired a kido blast at close range.

The flame hit its target. A sudden burst indicated that he had struck something, but a whizzing sound told him that another matter had taken route.

"Ah. You shouldn't employ the same trick twice. A decoy can stop it."

Hitsugaya was unable to counter, as the seal of the dandy once again aided his speed. A furious kick at frightening pace slammed into the back of the prodigy's neck, bouncing him on the ground. Before he could touch the concrete a second time, he had already ran to him, kicked him into the air, striking the wind clean out of his sternum. Briefly in free-fall, Bloodswerth flipped in grace unexpected for a priest, and stomped again his solar plexus, sending him on a one-track course to the ground.

Toshiro's face grated from the concrete, now freckled with ice and shattered fragments. He heard, as he laid there, the soft steps of the Seven-Sealed Devil near him, muttering in his native _Espanola. _He reached again for his blade, but Bloodswerth put his blade on it, having learned not let his blood near that blade.

"You still have _bankai_. Why not use it, _Niño_?"

"Ugghhh…!"

"First, your arm…I don't think you can lift that blade with one arm…"

Bloodswerth neared his arm quietly, looking down from his head. His mane of black hair now freely shown, no longer hidden by his hat. Apparently, his hat had been burned to cinders by his _kido _blast.

Toshiro felt a jarring pain, stopping all frivolous cognition, as he felt the _Gallant Unicorn_ slide into his shoulder joint.

"See how easily I can pop you bones apart from here? Maybe you will stay and listen? And don't try that freezing trick on me again. The moment my feet are numb, I'll just twitch, and _snap_."

Toshiro only gritted her teeth.

"Ah. What dot yonder break. It is the East. And _she_, is the sun. Am I right, _dragon pequeno?_"

Toshiro said nothing. A strong hand, radiating with power, grabbed his white hair, and forced him to look up.

"Look. And just a little longer, and the wicked ones will be no more; and you will certainly give attention to his place, and he will not be. But the meek ones themselves will possess the earth, and they will indeed find their exquisite delight in the abundance of peace. Do you understand? They…that family up there…they are the pagans, they are consorts and the bargainers of ghosts, those that have fled the circles of Hell and the gates of Heaven. I hate those that regard vain idols, but I trust in the Lord. You and your fellow captains are nothing more that clay idols elevated on a pedestal. But before the righteousness of God you will be incinerated by his fury. And I shall be his left hand. But…I must make you see the results of your sins. Look there. Look. Three lives, which I could've painlessly sent to heaven…and you have had to stop me. Now. I must send them to an place which you, Soul Reaper, will never retrieve them. I know of the path…Oh yes I know. Those that die here are reborn there. Recyclable soldiers, you could argue, for is that not what happens to them? And Ichigo Kurosaki's long been drafted already…how long do you think it will take for little Karin to be just another expendable soldier in Yamato's faceless _armada_?"

Toshiro could feel the anger welling on his face. At the same time he fought, aware of what would happen if he lost control.

"Do you care for her?" Bloodswerth asked, his voice and face a curtain of emotionlessness as he inquired.

"…"

"Not what I was seeking. Are you so guilty of sloth that you feel _nothing?_ Place the sufferings of others as you would endure them."

"…before this is over, I will kill you."

"Ha. I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep; for thou only, Lord, makest me dwell in safety."

His flat monotone did nothing to precipitate his next attack. Without a word, he slammed his foot on his arm, allowing the sudden crack to emanate throughout the room. Bone shattered in a surgical fracture, and Toshiro's scream of pain eliminated the memory of that snap. Bloodswerth noiselessly withdrew his blade, a dandy step to his walk as he moved away from Toshiro.

"…Forgive me, Lord…for I must sin anew."

He looked to the gigantic, three armed contraption, said by the mad exorcist to intend on destroying the trio of Kurosakis. Toshiro stood up, his arm, hanging uselessly to the side.

"Well, _capitan decimo?_ What shall it be, what shall it be? _Un homicidio y treis?_ Shall I kill you and let them be recycled for the greater good of humanity, as _el medico gordo _Kiiromori intended? Or will I save your Soul Society's _anonimia_, and let them break their bones from this height? It is time, before God and Heaven, for you to make your choice. Embrace your wickedness? Or give your soul to a more worthy cause? You can't have it both ways."

"Bloodswerth…ugghh…" Toshiro grimaced, his arm slapping his side. He could still wield _Hyourinmaru,_ but he was limited. A healing kido would not be difficult, but Bloodswerth wasn't giving him the opportunity.

"I will send them to earth…unless you stop me. But as a priest…I must pray for their souls."

"No! You can't-"

"I can and _I will_, as is the instruction of my Lord. I do not enjoy killing children. But I know that Satan is a master of deception, and will employ any means to befuddle me. If I must kill children to save them…so be it. Now. Excuse me. I shall grant you absolution momentarily."

And the exorcist turned to the contraption, bowing slightly, before raising his free arm up, as if to regard the Kurosakis and Heaven both. His sword arm never let go of the _Gallant Unicorn_, a mild curiosity that Toshiro shuffled away for further interest.

"_Dios, padre de misericordia-"_

"Bloodswerth…!"

"-_mediante la muerte y resurreccion de su hijo ha conciliado-"_

"Why are you doing this?"

"_-el mundo a si mismo y envio el Espiritu Santo entre nosotros para el perdon de los pecados;-_

"Bloodswerth…they're innocent-!"

"-_mediante elministerio de la Iglesia que Dios le dan perdon-"_

"I said stop!"

"-_y la paz, y me exime de sus pecados_-"

"Stop, dammit! I don't want them to die! I don't want her to die!"

"_-_In the name of the Father_-"_

"Are you listening!"

"-and the Son-"

"_Bankai: Daigeru-"_

"-And the Holy Ghost-"

"_Hyourinmaru!"_

"Amen."

Blades pierced flesh once again, intertwined by emotions and discipline. Toshiro aimed at the back. Bloodswerth, as if anticipating the move, turned his to his blindside, as if to intercept the attack. Toshiro's blade penetrated the Seven-Seal Devil's shoulder blade. Bloodswerth's had expertly intercepted his frost-manufactured wing.

"You don't want her to die. Is that what you said?"

"Yes."

"And why is that? She's just a mortal to you."

"I-" The words caught in his throat.

"…You pierced my right shoulder blade. Very good. But you should have aimed for my legs. Or my sword arm. As it stands…you're too late."

A small smile formed on Bloodswerth's face. The effects of the absolute cold were taking effect. Despite the prodigious technique and amplified talent of the exorcist, despite the fanaticism that drove him, he was still as human as Ichigo. What color the albino had was beginning to drain out of his face. Already he had endured a blade or two from his attacker, but he didn't have Toshiro's constitution. Or was it something else? Even now…with the cold gripping him, he refused to let go of the _Gallant Unicorn_.

"Surrender."

"_No._ _Combinan Sellos, Primero y Tercero y Septimo: Azure Smiting Boomerang."_

His hand-his free hand-pulled back like a competent discus player. Blue sparkling lights began to form at his fingertips, reminding Toshiro of a whilom attack that had been employed on him. His eyes looked at where the projectile would go…and the color drained from his own face. Not at Isshin, nor at Ichigo, but at-

"Karin!"

Bloodswerth let his arm fly, let the energy boomerangs fly.

He could hear them whistle in the air. He felt his hands jerk _Hyourinmaru_ where it laid. He felt his wing jerk as it ripped away the blade that was embedded in it. He _shun-poed _through the air, intent on either interceptions or retrieval. The boomerangs had a head start, curling slightly…Toshiro breathed slightly, seeing that the blades would not hit Karin…then he noticed where they were going…

The blades cut easily through the metal coil holding her suspended in mid-air. A creak, and a lurch later, and gravity did the rest.

He moved to turn his flight, as Karin…still in the throes of unconsciousness, blissfully unaware of the drama around her, numb to the sudden plummet from the zephyr-laden airs…he reached his arms out to grabbed her.

Pain intercepted him, just as his body shielded Karin. A whole wing, softened by the _Gallant Unicorn_, fell, sliced clean off by another array of his boomerangs. He grimaced, but he kept his consciousness whole. His arms pulled Karin close, and he turned her slightly. Flight was impossible with one wing, and so he committed to crashing while protecting his precious cargo.

The wind once more was knocked out of him. His other wing tried to cocoon them both under its protective cold. Toshiro rolled up, holding _Hyourinmaru _andKarin in his one decent arm. He felt blood begin to roll from the top of his head.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. So…you aren't beyond redemption, after all," Bloodswerth said. His voice was haggard, but he kept his smile plastered on his albino face. Apparently, that wound to the shoulder blade had been worse than Toshiro expected. He was shuddering furiously from the cold, and the veins on his visage were down-right obvious. But he was still standing and he was still armed.

"…You must kill me again, _dragon pequeno_. And Again…For I will keep trying to kill them…the pagans above and the one in your arm…"

"No! I'll protect Karin as long as I have to."

"And why…is that? Why does a mortal girl mean that much to you?"

"Because I-" Again the words caught in his throat.

"Because?"

"…I'm not going to say it to _you_."

"Really? Oh well. Actions speak…louder than words." He pointed up with the _Gallant Unicorn, _tossing out his own challenge. Toshiro, eyeballing his spasm-laden posture, put his own hypothesis together.

"You're dying, aren't you? After all your bluster you're still human."

"'Glass cannon' is the proper vernacular, I believe. But…you're missing the point. You shouldn't be concerned with me dying…that I accept and that I embrace. Perhaps you should be more concerned about something else."

"Like what?"

"…like whether or not you can kill me _before _I kill that package in your arms."

Toshiro's had to hold a bit of effort in order to keep himself from showing just how much that bothered him. His eyes twitched at the revelation. Could Toshiro take his head off? Affirmative. He had stabbed him twice and already he was losing steam. But the thing which allowed Bloodswerth to compete on his level was his speed, first and foremost. Could the exorcist sneak in a surgically fatal stab, ending Karin's life just before Toshiro ended his? He gulped at the cold realization that yes, he could, and he would.

"Of course…if you let me kill her…then you will have a clear shot at me. Long enough for you to put the nail in the coffin on old me. That is what you Soul Society types are like. Victory at any costs. Well…here's your chance. Your _amigos _up top have all but eradicated Canopus. My end will come in one form or another. But I will take one life with me to Heaven, before I let you blasphemers, you cheep mockeries, before I collapse. So…again, I test your sin, Toshiro. If that girl means absolutely nothing to you-as she should-then let her go, let me save her, and you will have my head like a predator. But make no mistake, _dragon pequeno_. I will slit her throat and warm my dying body in her nubile blood, if you simply stand there and watch."

The words, delivered in such a flat monotone, sparked a level of horror in Toshiro. How could a human speak like this, with a mindset almost befitting of the most depraved hollows? The youngest captain gritted his teeth, keeping her awkwardly held in his weakened arm, while turning to ready his own blade.

"I. Won't. Allow. It!" He all but roared.

"Then, redeem yourself of your sin, here and now. And stop me."

Toshiro wasn't given much time to think over this challenge. What calculations his mind could manifest were placed aside as the Seven-Sealed Devil lifted his sword quietly, saying only a few words to announce his motive:

"_Combinan Sellos Primero y Tercero: Salvation Thrust."_

And then he rushed forward, his feet a heightened funeral dirge.

Toshiro pressed the unconscious Karin to his body, eyeballing the speeding seconds as Bloodswerth closed in, the _Gallant Unicorn _shining hungrily. He could see the mask of death briefly on his face, but on his eyes, he saw almost a fanatical mania shimmering in his pupils. Briefly, two options flashed in his mind, which only one he could commit to in time. The future of each option stayed in dark clouds. He gulped, glanced at Karin's unconscious face, and then chose-Kill or protect.

The _Gallant Unicorn_ struck home, burying itself easily through flesh. Blood splattered on the exorcist's black tuxedo…warming his passing body. He smiled briefly, his eyes closing, as his body had not felt a countering blow.

Then he looked up, and his smile dropped in a flat line of neutrality. His mouth opened in surprise.

"So…that is your answer."

Toshiro had shifted his body, moving Karin into the full envelop of his body. His blade was lowered, but he employed what he could in so short a time interval. Karin had been wrapped in the remainder of his other wing. Instead, Toshiro's torso took the full impact of penetration, the blade sliding through cloth and tissue and exiting out his back.

Toshiro's face was one of cold, righteous fury. His weakened arm grabbed the _Gallant Unicorn_, and pulled himself towards the exorcist, whom could easily escape, if he just let go. Instead, he did not. Toshiro's voice was one of disintegrating ice.

"…I will give you this one warning. If you ever threaten Karin again…I will bring your soul to the Seireitei myself. And let you see how merciful we are there."

Janus Bloodswerth, the Seven-Sealed Devil, only smiled. "Destined to die, you…and…I."

Toshiro Hitsugaya slammed the blade through the Seven-Sealed Devil's spindly frame, cutting end-to-end, before plopping down on his rear. He felt so tired.

His eyes began to flash to darkness…he felt himself become warmer…as the blade's pain began to fade…

"At least…she's…safe…"

The first thing Karin Kurosaki felt, when she woke, was the empowering warmth that encircled her body. Groggily, she blinked, trying to decipher from the darkness of the environment and the last veneer of unconsciousness. She tried to remember what brought her here…then with a furious panic, memories of her last waking moment bombarded her.

She remembered her daddy's face as his visage turned from curiosity to panic, as the burly giant had fired upon them. She remembered the blast striking the car, and her going swiftly into unconsciousness from that. However, she didn't remember much else.

"Oh…my…head…" Karin muttered. She tried to lift an arm to cradle it, only to find that her arm was pinned under something. She turned her body slightly…picking up a white cropping of hair.

"Toshiro!"

She struggled, moving him as best as she could, so that she could get him off. He was not in his normal clothes, but dressed in the same way as Ichigo was, when he interacted with the hollows. His eyes were shut close, but her eyes fell upon something else. Being exposed to the hospital setting as much as she had been, she knew what an incision, a puncture, and a stab wound looked like. And Toshiro had that in spades. He had apparently fallen on her, unconscious.

"Toshiro! Are you-are you…" Fear mingled with worry. Her brain reacted to emotional noise, stimulated in spite of her own nagging pains to assist. Two fingers jabbed at his neck, checking for the sure sign of a pulse. A faint threading, a minute beat, answered her probing fingers. She checked his haori, noting how the pure white had been tainted to a murky red from blood. His wound was pumping, still gushing blood.

"Oh…no…no…Toshiro…"

She was medically educated enough to know that the wound, while not definitely fatal, could lead him to bleeding to death if he didn't stop. His _zanpaku-to _had fallen to the side, also stained with blood, though whether it was his own or otherwise left another matter to her. Glancing briefly, she noticed a serrated three-piece suit, scattered around the dark room, but she paid no attention to it.

"Oh…Toshiro…if you…if you…!"

Karin grabbed and jerked his haori off, taking in her teeth and ripping it apart. A mediocre bandage to stop the blood flow would certainly help, but she had no idea how much blood he had already lost…

"No. No. Don't think like that. Don't think like that."

She propped the unconscious boy up, trying to get him to a position to which she could properly bandage him. Hastily she removed his robe, exposing his wounds. Hastily she curled and tightened the wraps on his body. But…he was out of it still…

"C'mon Shiro…I don't know what you did, while I was unconscious…but…I'm not going to let you croak. No I'm not. Ichigo's in the hospital…He's always putting his neck out there…Don't go on me…Don't go on me like Mom."

Faintly, she became aware of a slight beeping noise in the background. She tried to ignore it, more focused on Toshiro's predicament. A more pertinent noise came, as footsteps clamored down a set of stairs.

Meeting her was another Toshiro.

"What the-?"

"Oh. Relax. I'm not Toshiro. I'm just holding his false body for the time being and-Holy toledo! What happened to him!"

"Shut up and help me…can you help me carry him out?"

The false Toshiro looked at her incredulously, as if she was missing an impertinent point. Then he opened his mouth, an air of snootiness on his face. "You know, he could jump back in me. That'll take care of some of the pain…but I think he'll be in so much shock he won't be able to fight."

"…and you haven't done this-why?"

"Girly! Can't you _feel _it outside?"

"I was knocked out!"

The false Toshiro cringed, but huffed out in annoyance. "Captain Hitsugaya's comrades were winning a rout, a moment ago. Everyone of Canopus-Roku and especially Ortiz-were dropped not long ago. That left that blind guy Warunabe. Then another came out and pleaded with the Soul Reapers to surrender."

"Then what-"

"It…uh…went all to fudge." The false Toshiro finished lamely.

"Look. You can tell me this later! Help me with Toshiro! Please!"

"Darn. I was liking this body." The false Toshiro remarked, taking Toshiro in his hand… "Uh…I think he has to be conscious for this."

"Let me." Karin, becoming more fearful at the consequences of this parody's reluctance, promptly soccer-kicked him in the abs.

"Ok! Ok! Lets carry him! Just don't kick me again!"

They took a shoulder apiece, the false 'Shiro complaining about the dead weight. They didn't get too far, before the door at the top of the stairwell was kicked open again. The darkness hid the face of the new interloper, instead, leaving room for the noise of vicious growls, furious stomps on each step and the subtle snapping of fingers.

The false Toshiro's eyes widened suddenly.

"You." Karin turned. "What exactly did you mean when everything went to fudge?"

"Uh…well…We'll laugh about it later-"

"_**BROOOTHHEEERRRR!"**_

Standing in front of the door was the unkempt, ochre-clothed, bum that was Tamashi Warunabe. His clothing, normally of that disgusting ochre color, had been stained completely red, as had the unruly mane of brown hair covering his face. Over his shoulder rested a heavy, indistinguishable load.

"_**The Dragon must die! The Dragon must die! They all must die! I can't see anymore! They all must die! Die! Die! Die!"**_

Her eyes picked up a single dagger, twirling in one of his hands. The other was securing his bundle.

"_**Where is-Where is-Where is-Ah! Hear his breathing! Hear it! Do you hear it little brother! Soft! Soft! Soft! So soft and faint! I heard his heart beating! Soft! Janus finished it! Almost! Not quite! I see…I hear! There you are! Dragon! Broken Dreams! I make them for you! I make them for you!"**_

The blind psychopath stomped forward, his intent on murder apparent by body language alone. His dagger twirled maliciously, intent on finishing the job that the Devil himself couldn't do. Karin was struck by a sudden fresh odor, one she was familiar with due to her job at the clinic-the stench of the dead. Whether it was coming off of him or heaven forbid somewhere else…

Karin acted before she thought. Toshiro had already done so much for her. And now…was she going to stand by, as this new monster stomped forward as proud and crazy nutcase?

No. She would not. She slipped Toshiro's arm away from her and stood in front, spreading her arms out like a shield to her winter-themed friend.

Tamashi Warunabe had raised his blade up intent on, a bloodstained dirk aimed blindly forward. He was not snapping his fingers; instead, he was breathing haggardly, excitement mingling with a depraved jump towards the irredeemable. The blade lurked high about his head, seeing only the boy and not the girl standing protectively in front of him. Karin winced at the inevitable conclusion, her knees knocking together. But she did not budge.

"_**I dream broken dreams…I make them come true….I make them…for you!"**_

The blade jumped forward, intent on ramming through Karin to end Toshiro.

The tip stopped right in front of her face. Her eyes, shut instinctively from her fear, opened just a tad, as the blade delayed.

Tamashi's other hand had jumped from its bundle, and grasped his own wrist, stopping _himself _from delivering the final blow.

"_**No…no…We can't kill you. Little brother would be sad. Made us promise. Made us promise! What does it matter? Brother is dead! But brother keeps us aware. He is the constant light. He is the constant SUN! Answer me, little girl…your full name. Full name. Full name!"**_

"…Karin Kurosaki…"

"_**Grrrhhh….He made me promise not to kill Kurosaki. I can't kill Kurosaki! He made me promise! He made me promise while he died! That ape killed him…I'll kill them all…"**_

The mad hobo faced the little girl as best as he could, his entire face still hidden under his brown hair. He turned slightly, twirling his dagger. Growls trilled through his tongue, as he sheathed his dirk.

"_**Say hello to Yuzu. For my brother Takumi. He has gone to your land."**_

"What do you-"

"_**Tell Hitsugaya this…when he wakes…grrrhh…I will bring the Soul Society crashing on its head. I dream broken dreams. I make them come true. And I will raze that land…to get him…All will die! All will die! All will die! So soft! So soft! So soft! Even you Janus! When I find you again!"**_

Insanity reclaimed the blind Tamashi, lost in a world of imagined phantasms and primordial emotions. He walked past Karin and the two Toshiros, his mind feeding on perhaps another matter entirely. Seeing him walk away, grasped in his broken world, Karin let out a breath she had been holding in. These images seared in her brain…combined with an attachment to the unconscious boy captain.

"C'mon Toshiro. I'll get you to safety…I promise."

Karin looked above, seeing for the first time the endless rows of pods around her. The beeping noise had resumed onward, ignorant to everything that had happened. She also noticed her daddy and Ichigo suspended above in the oddest, sci-fi contraption she had ever seen. It stood inert, unable to function without a finger to press a button or a hand to manipulate a switch.

Karin briefly saw her family, then saw Toshiro, and felt a conflict of interests. Then she turned to the false Toshiro.

"Hey, can you get those two down?"

"Are you kidding? Do monkeys love bananas? Anything to get dead weight here off my back."

Karin rolled her eyes. "Go get them down, please. I'll get Toshiro up to safety…to a medic."

The false Toshiro beamed, taking the load off of his back so he could do an easier task. Karin took Toshiro over her shoulder. His breathing was beginning to return, and he was smiling, as if in a dream. What exactly had he done while she was unconscious, to warrant his wounds?

"Thank you, Toshiro."

With the false Toshiro clearly busy, she quickly pecked the unconscious Toshiro on the cheek, a small token of gratitude for whatever trial he had braved. Far from it she would allow him to go down on her watch.

She hobbled with him quickly through the path, with the endless line of pods in the dark. She hoped someone was up there to help them.

She barely noticed the beeping sound, emanating from one of the pods, which was now open, and empty.

Karin ignored it in her haste.

_End Chapter._

Translations:

_-Dios, padre de misericordia, mediante la muerte y resurrección de su hijo ha conciliado el mundo a sí mismo y envió el Espíritu Santo entre nosotros para el perdón de los pecados; mediante el ministerio de la Iglesia que Dios le dan perdón y la paz, y me exime de sus pecados en el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo_

-"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Sonhas reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among usfor the forgiveness of sins;Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace,and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit

_-Dios O, Cuyo atributo es de siempre tener misericordia y para reservar, presentamos humildemente nuestras oraciones a Le para el alma de Tu sirviente que Usted tiene este día escatimó de este mundo, implorando que Le no entregarlo en las manos del enemigo, ni para olvidarselo siempre, pero para ordenar Tus a ángeles santos para recibirlo, y para soportarlo en paraíso; eso como Ha creído y ha esperado en Le puede ser entregado de los dolores del infierno y hereda la vida eterna por Cristo nuestro Señor. Amén_."

"O God, Whose attribute it is always to have mercy and to spare, we humbly present our prayers to Thee for the soul of Thy servant which Thou has this day called out of this world, beseeching Thee not to deliver it into the hands of the enemy, nor to forget it for ever, but to command Thy holy angels to receive it, and to bear it into paradise; that as it has believed and hoped in Thee it may be delivered from the pains of hell and inherit eternal life through Christ our Lord. Amen."


End file.
